Kav Imut, part 10

Waiting for the other shoe: I leave the relative comfort to venture out for some critical errands (bank, accountant, etc.). It is noon, and the hot, sticky air hangs over the city like a soggy blanket. I end up parking only a block away from my accountant's office, but am soaked by the time I get there. It is just Too Darn Hot.

Orly, the bookkeeper who handles most of my account, grins at me. It has been over a month since she's been able to return to work in Karmiel. The office was closed during the war, and Orly stayed at home in Kiryat Bialek (part of the suburban sprawl of the Kriyot, a region that starts at Haifa and continues up and around the bay). We tell war stories. It is simply what we do now when we meet someone we haven't seen since Before the War. Where were you? Did you get any hits close to you? Someone at my brother's company was killed in Haifa. You know the factory at Nesher?... And so it goes. Everyone has their story to tell, their need to have someone understand the fear and tension that permeated our lives for that dreadful month. And everyone, without exception, refers to the current situation as sheket z'mani (temporary quiet). We don't know what is coming, but we know that it is not going to be good.

Hezbullah PR: In a flashy show of might, the Hezbullah press engine releases a photo of an Israel ship being blown up. Or so they say. Andrew Bolt's piece on this silly fabrication was my first official spit-take of the day. Do not read this if you are drinking coffee or have a weak bladder. Good on ya, mate!

Is anyone listening? Well, last night between 20:00 and 21:30, apparently over a thousand people were. But they didn't log in to hear about this war; rather, they signed up to hear me discuss the battle over software interface design. This was one of the webcast seminars that I produce for the Society for Technical Communication. As always, the sessions are late at night for me (to accommodate the bulk of the audience in the States), and I finish drenched, exhausted, and jittery with adrenaline. Gill and I have a late dinner and I try to wind down slowly, but it is almost midnight before I can manage to sleep. Nadine, annoyed at being locked out of my office during the webcast (and therefore unable to meow her two-cents-worth to my audience) boycotts the bed.