Today was a day of great productivity and bursting forth from comfort zones.
For starters, I went All By Myself to Beit Shean (the nearest town). Due to various considerations, I went sans bus schedule, sans map, and even sans addresses of some of the places I wanted to go. We don't (yet) have a car, Beit Shean is about 5 miles away, and the bus runs twice a day. That leaves the kibbutz shuttle and hitchhiking as the only two viable options, and unfortunately the kibbutz shuttle runs only slightly more frequently than the bus.
I now am thrown up against the fact that this blog is a combination journal and letter to everyone I know, including concerned relatives. I therefore will take this opportunity to explain Why Hitchhiking is Not Foolhardy. Abba, I was told to hitchhike by Brett, who's been living here (with children) for the past 20 years or so. See? The natives say it's safe. Ema, are you listening? Really listening? OK, I'll settle for narrowed eyes and continued reading.
To hitchhike toward Beit Shean, I wait within the gates of the kibbutz. This means that my ride is someone that I live with, eat with, pray with. Ah, the joys of living in a truly small town where everyone knows everyone else! As far as hitchhiking back from Beit Shean goes, I'll be honest: I'm not 100% sure why it's 100% safe. I can only reiterate that Brett says it's fine, and assume that your average psycho prefers large cities to small towns. Please be assured at this stage that (a) I'M FINE and (b) I didn't quite end up hitchhiking back. Keep reading for the exciting twist!
So lo, I bravely prepared to hitchhike all alone and handle the social interaction all by myselfsies. And so I did! I got a ride with a family of 5 that was going to a destination less than two blocks from where I wanted to start off. When we parked, the father very kindly gave me directions in a mixture of Hebrew and English to the bank.
And lo! I very bravely walked as he directed, and confirmed with a nice lady that I was not lost, and went into the bank all by my selfsies, and punched through the Hebrew "client-sorter-machine" thingy, and got a number, and sat down and listened and watched the board, and talked to an Israeli banker all by my selfsies, and lo! I did get my debit card that's been sitting in the bank for the past two weeks or so. But low, I did not get Husbinator's debit card, because of course, there are Rules and Regulation about Paperwork, and he has to show up at the bank live and in person and no, we can't mail it. Nice try, though. I even asked the lady about fees for using the debit card at various ATM's and stores before I left. Look at me socially interacting!
I then wandered in the vague direction that I remembered seeing some stores, and lo! I found them! (I'm still shocked by that.) OK, that's enough lo's, people. I wandered around the stores; I tried to buy an extension cord from an electronics store, but the owner directed me to a hardware store nearby. Get ready for shock #2: I got distracted by a Judaica store on the way (oh, the bliss of having a printed English-Hebrew/Hebrew-English dictionary once more!), but... I found the hardware store! I was two for two, people.
I wandered happily around the small hardware store a few times, and bought some badly-needed extension cords. I priced out a few other items, but Husbinator was at the market on kibbutz and on the phone with me, and everything was cheaper at the market than at the hardware store. Shoshi had assured us that the market generally beats local prices, but it was still shocking to see with my own eyes. (On further reflection, this really does make sense: the market serves the members of the kibbutz. The members of the kibbutz own the market. There is no reason to make more profit than is necessary to run the store: the kibbutz wants to make money from off-kibbutz, not on-kibbutz! In fact, most things in the market have two prices: non-members pay, on average, 25% more than members. And since the kibbutz is kind, we pay member prices.)
As I wandered out the hardware store and tried to figure out how I was going to get to the grocery store I had seen on the way into town, I hear someone call my name. It's the family I got a ride with two hours earlier! They offered me a ride back, I say yes please and thank you, and with thanks to G-d, and only the tiniest regret over the grocery store, I head back. (Yes, the kibbutz gives us three meals a day. I was hoping for clothespins that neither the kibbutz market nor the hardware store have in stock.)
Flush with the success of my outing, I approached Eitan when I saw him at lunch. He didn't answer my question of when (if?) I start work, but he did invite me to a meeting with the PV contractor tomorrow.
On our way back from lunch, "we" (i.e., the Husbinator) stopped by the bike guy's hut and left a note asking to rent a bike, and arranged a ride to Afula with Shoshi (again, the Husbinator). We've seen signs that for two days this week, there's a no-tax sale at the Home-Center there for kibbutz-dwellers. (Remember that store? Brett took us there the day we went to Misrad HaKlita?) So we'll go and price more things out, and while we're there, I hope that we can both take the first step toward getting Israeli drivers' licenses. (Yes, Afula is the closest place to us that has a government-approved eye-examiner.)
I then went to the health clinic and made a well-visit appointment for BSM. While there, I arranged auto-payment (the only way to make our co-payments) and got a perfunctory exam that allows me to use the exercise room. EKG's are silly, with all those electrode clamps.
I then pinned up four pairs of Husbinator's pants for later hemming, paid February's rent (the kibbtuz will take a check from our American bank in USD! Oh, joy!), paid a security deposit so we can use the library, and picked up El Babo from daycare. Speaking of which, he had a really great day. I can only assume that while he's eaten and slept nicely there this past week, he's only played halfheartedly. When I came to nurse him before my lunch, Daphna told me that he can move backwards. (I know, he's been doing that for weeks now: he sees a toy in front of him, and wiggles with all of his might and main, getting progressively further from the toy and less happy. It's only a little bit funny; poor kid.) After nursing, I put him down next to a partially-deflated bump-covered ball, and for the first time, I didn't sneak out. BSM knew I was leaving, and he was OK with that. He had a ballie, and it had bumps. What more did he need?
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