Far from Denmark.

 It is one of the most beautiful and magical things in nature, the little yellow flower and the pink and white flower, both very small growing in the garden, almost invisible but suddenly you notice their beauty, and in contrast to them the hollyhock, which is hard not to see right away, tall and towering, it came to the garden uninvited, but immediately took over Everyone. It's the first one to notice.

I started with my garden a few years ago when I saw pictures of a garden in Denmark, only green plants in all kinds of shades, also some red and silver, I thought it was lovely and I wanted a garden like that too. I don't know anything about gardening but I tried, I bought all kinds of plants and made the attempt, it was partially successful because this is not Denmark.                                                                          Because of the partial success I also started adding flowers, also because I love flowers, and also because in the end it doesn't look like that garden in Denmark.                                                                              This is not the first nor the last case where I did things with the belief that something different could be created here, I make many analogies in this regard to my journey in blogland, but about that another time.

In the meantime, my garden is beautiful in a way that suits it, far from Denmark, suffering from hot days, (40c yesterday), dust storms and more, but I take care of it.

Saturday morning

 I take pictures with my iPhone with one click, sometimes it turns out well and sometimes it's less like these pictures.

The bougainvillea that takes over the olive tree at the entrance to the house. The cats who love the garden. The irises that started to bloom and this strange plant that I don't know the name of.

It's almost midnight

 For several days now I have been trying to forget the night between Saturday and Sunday. People talk about this night like women talk about the birth of their child, repeating the story over and over again, what a great miracle happened to us, how great the fear was.

 cruise missiles and hundreds of unmanned aerial vehicles with tons of explosives, passed over our heads with a noise   of which we had never heard, it was unlike any previous sounds of war, and the fear, such as we had never known before,

And then the feeling that a miracle really happened to us, here we are still here intact.

I'm so sorry that I just read the blog of someone who I was trying to find a common language with in the last few days and I didn't succeed because she really hates Israel.

She bases herself on false information and spreads it on her blog and there will always be others who join her,

It's almost midnight and tomorrow will be another day.                                                                                                       I'm so tired and hurt by these lies, tomorrow I might write a more coherent post.

waiting

Waiting for the Iranians. I bought a few bottles of water, I didn't buy a home generator, radio batteries, canned food or toilet paper. There are many people who have done this. I'll deal with whatever happens, I hope so. It might be the worst or it might be nothing.

For a week everything around was green and blooming, a week of 30 degrees Celsius dries everything and awakens us from the illusion that we are in another country. Everything starts to turn yellow.

And this is my garden which also has a bloom that is starting to disappear.

 

A bit about trolling

 The phenomenon of blog trolls is known to some of us, those of us who represent controversial issues get their frequent visits and offensive comments. I, being who I am, have had the many visits of the trolls, I make sure to delete them but the sharp-eyed see them right away.                                                                              During times of war here, when the anxiety is great, the attacks of the trolls always increase and in a way that is difficult for me to explain, because these are just words, it always increases my anxiety. In times like this I feel that I have very little energy left for arguments and certainly not for threats.                                   The trolls are always anonymous, I already know their style, they always say that they have some Jewish side and this seems to give them the right to use the harshest and most extreme criticism there is. Sometimes they insult in a very personal way. Some of my good friends in blogland avoid my blog comments during times like this because the trolls get to them too.

Recently I was wrong, because of an extreme and even very bad comment, by an anonymous writer with a name that trolls really like to use, and from about the same location, I thought she was a troll and I understand that I offended her. I am of course very sorry for that, but I don't have much to do with it other than try to suggest to the commenters to open a real profile and thus not fall into such unfortunate mistakes.

thoughts

 What to write about now? Should I write at all or stop and stay with the thoughts in my head?

These are such complicated days and probably some kind of historical event that we will only be able to understand in a long time, if at all.

There is the day-to-day life, which is for the most part the normal life of each of you, the house, the shopping, the cleaning, the cooking, the family, the garden, the cats. and more. In the background of everything there are always still the sharp senses that must be alert to every different sound in an application on the iPhone or an alert on the television, still have to be careful.                                                           There are the people that each of us knows one or more of them and they are still in the tunnels of Hamas, some of them are dead, old men, young women who are abused there and very young people, they are the children or grandchildren of someone many of us know because we are a very small country.                      I also think about my Facebook friend who I recently discovered that we both went to the same kindergarten in the small neighborhood where I lived until the age of four and our fathers studied in the same grade in the same neighborhood. Mira was sitting with her son and her husband for lunch in their small moshav in the north of the country and a Hezbollah missile hit the house killing her and her son. I learned about it from the Facebook group of that old neighborhood. My father wrote three books for teenagers about the same neighborhood, they became best sellers. One of the books is called "Shooting on the Neighborhood", because there were always wars and shootings here. Even when he was a child, and this year he should have been a hundred years old...                                                                                                       

Spring came in the middle of winter

 It's all blooming in my garden now. They come every year and I'm always as excited as meeting old friends.