welcome to march

Well it's 30 celsius in Tel Aviv today, another hamsin (commonly used Arabic) or sharav (for the hebraically inclined) -- very dry, and hotter than usual. I checked Toronto's weather: high of MINUS 4 -- and snowing!!! Oh, you poor babies. When I was in Toronto on March 1st of 2003 I remember feeling very proud of myself for having "survived" the winter not too badly dented in spirit. Little did I know that the perma-snow and bitter winds would not abate until sometime in April or May. Those last two months were what killed me.

Fine, I may be loving the sudden change from winter to summer now, but I'm already starting to worry about how I'm going to dress for the office throughout the coming long, long horribly humid summer months, when I'd rather quit my job than have to put clothes on. At least from July to September, anyone forced to leave the house trudges oppressively from one air-conditioned oasis to another. The summer hamsin offers none of the delight of the winter version -- it's like living and breathing in an oven. You simply do not leave the house unless it's an emergency (like going to work to pay the bills).

So it's March. I've started getting to work earlier -- managed 8:30 today, and amazingly beat my boss for the first time. (How the hell does she always manage to get here so early when she's got a 3-year-old at home? Duh --must be the full-time nanny!) Salary number two has been dutifully transferred to my account, and Mr. Squarepeg is calm again. I have not been a slouch at taking advantage of the new cash flow; as far as I'm concerned, everything I earn is disposable income. But I must now work on the Grinch to free up some cash for the young miss. She feels very deprived by the lack of respect (i.e. party and/or expensive gift) forthcoming on her bat mitzvah (when girls turn 12). She's now 12-and-a-half and has worked up quite a head of steam over the issue, having had 6 months to take in a few lavish parties thrown by classmates, and now facing a year of same for the boys as they all start turning 13 (the bar mitzvah, for boys, is a year later, reflecting the usual difference in maturity). Her demands: an mp3 player and a paint job for her room (which really needs it). Very modest, really, and much cheaper than a party would be, in every way, yet scroogey mr. squarepeg has been a complete tightwad about it. Yesterday I got fed up and stopped talking to him. Yes, I bring out the big guns when nothing else can shift the enemy.

As usual, this worked like a charm, and by the time I left for work this morning, he was reconsidering his position.