Day 247 (Erev Shabbos, again)

I brought BSM back to daycare this morning, as the vacation schedule that Dikla gave out does not mention today as a day off (surprising as I find that). We got to her house and BSM--after well over a week away--blew me a kiss goodbye before I even took him out of his stroller. Unfortunately, there was no answer when I knocked at the door, so I called Dikla, and she said that there is no daycare today. Sigh. I was not about to argue with someone whom I just woke up, especially when I need that someone to love my son.

As I was leaving, another mother pulled up, and my news did not make her happy. I kind of hoped she'd call Dikla and get this straightened out (the other mother had work today), but she didn't get much further than I did. To her credit, the other mother did tell Dikla that the schedule says there is daycare today, but she didn't put up much of a fight when Dikla said, "No, it doesn't." That's when I processed the fact that even though this other mother's Hebrew is better than mine, she still has a French accent. I can't exactly expect a Frenchwoman to get Israeli-style aggressive, after all.

So we went home, and I picked olives even though BSM was home. BSM also picked an olive, but he wasn't really interested. I, however, was fascinated. Picking olives is a surprisingly tactile experience. Sure, it's the eyes that initially locate the olives and send in the hands, but it's all in the fingers from there. Are the olives ripe? Are there more? Have they been detached from their branch? The fingers walk down the branch, combing through the leaves, rolling the olives and working almost of their own accord.

Also, since the two trees I was working on are so young, I could harvest fruit from the entire tree without a ladder. The branches are supple enough that my arms just reached up and up, and my back arched back and back, and the whole tree bent to me. I like dancing with olive trees. Though when I grabbed my Erev Shabbos shower (yes, picking olives on Erev Shabbos does lead to Erev Shabbos insanity), I discovered that I had gotten horrifyingly dirty. Good times.