Oh, Monday. The day upon which, according to Brett, the kibbutz serves breakfast. The look I gave him seems to have conveyed, "Eh... The kibbutz serves breakfast every day except Shabbat?" pretty well, because he immediately clarified with, "Fried eggs." Fried eggs, my friends, turns out to be British for scrambled eggs. And the kibbutz kitchen makes some darned good scrambled eggs. I learned today that the kibbutz also makes absolutely delicious French Toast. I am hoping that this is a weekly occurrence that I happened to miss last week, and not a one-time special that I will never see again.
After I procured breakfast, but before I ate it, I met with Ari, who manages investments for the kibbutz. Currently, they're investing in PV. Unfortunately for me, the system has already been pretty thoroughly specced out, but if he thinks of something I can do, he'll let me know. Meanwhile, he'll pass my contact info along to the head electrician on the kibbutz, and we'll see if the kibbutz can put me to work as an electrical engineer. (This would be instead of working as, say, a pre-school teacher or field hand. Heck, I can't work as a field-hand: the fields are more than a 5-minute walk from the daycare building, to which I must retire to nurse my tender offspring. Singular for offspring, anyone?)
After lunch, I took it easy. It made a very nice change, I must say.
As we had been warned multiple times, the kibbutz had an earthquake drill today at 5pm. As a reward for showing up to our assigned meeting point, we each got a krembo. It was, shockingly, my first krembo. Oh, the airy, artificial goodness!
You grandpa would be happy to see you working with tools. He knew you had a good brain with a good heart.
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