I was born in Australia, but now live in
Jerusalem.
I lived in London when I was young, back in the
15th century (well, almost. Lived there for 3 golden years in the
50's)
I have 4 children, 18 grandchildren and 9
great-grandchildren - we are truly blessed!
I love the "golden oldies" - Frank Sinatra, Ella
Fitzgerald, Dean Martin etc. plus the Big Bands era of Benny Goodman and Tommy
Dorsey.
I am 83 but still write for 28 newspapers , teach
Creative Writing and am working on my 14th book (my e-book for Prism is "Autumn
Blessing".
Dvora Waysman was born Dorothy Opas
in Melbourne, Australia. She moved to Israel with her husband
and four children in 1971.
She has received several literary awards – the “For Jerusalem”
citation by the late Mayor Teddy Kollek for her fiction,
articles and poems about Jerusalem; and the Seef Award
from the Society for Justice, Ethics and Morals as
“Best Foreign Correspondent”.
Na’amat Women, in USA selected her as
“The Israeli woman who has made a difference in literature.”
Dvora Waysman has written 11 books, one of which,
The Pomegranate Pendant was being made into a movie.
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Autumn can be a desolate season. For Dorothy, after losing her husband, the autumn of her life stretches before her lonely and uncertain. But a change, a new hobby, and new friends prove this new season to be bountiful with blessings.
AUTUMN BLESSINGS
EXCERPT
Copyright
2013 © Dvora Waysman
I worked in
my garden today. It was cold…a typical autumn day that was
somehow appropriate to my melancholy mood. It is still hard for
me to think of it as “my” garden. This was always Steve’s
province, and my only involvement was to pick some flowers, or
some vegetables from the back garden. Even this Steve usually
did. I can still see him coming into the kitchen beaming with
pride. He’d carry a basketful of golden corn cobs, fat
cucumbers, or scarlet, juicy tomatoes. Sometimes the zucchini
would weigh him down, and I’d groan because I thought them an
insipid vegetable that seemed to defy all my efforts to make
them tasty. But no matter how I’d complain, he’d plant them
again next season, and that one vegetable always thrived.
It’s been
eight months since he died. Until a few weeks ago, I ignored the
garden completely. Every time they came to visit, Vanessa and
Peter urged me to hire a gardener, and I did finally find
someone to mow the lawn. Yet, somehow the garden symbolized
Steve for me, and I couldn’t bear to look out the window and see
another man stomping around in it. Still, I couldn’t go on
ignoring the weed-choked plants, or the branches that needed
cutting back if you didn’t want to risk being decapitated as you
walked along the path. And now I have started to enjoy it.
There’s something satisfying about putting your hands into the
soil—it’s really quite therapeutic.
I picked some
of the chrysanthemums and arranged them in a vase on the piano
next to Steve’s photo. They are a rich russet color, and he
seems to be smiling at them. Such silly little things we cling
to for comfort. It is so hard to let him go!
The kids tell
me I should socialize more, and suggested I take up bridge. But
cards never really appealed to me. Of course, I babysit my five
grandchildren when I’m needed, but it’s true I should have more
adult company. We had a few good friends, but since I’ve been
widowed I notice the wives seldom invite me over, or only
occasionally for morning coffee when their husbands are at work.
Maybe they see a single woman as a threat, which in my case is
ridiculous. I’m sixty and never was a femme fatale even when I
was young. But this is a couple-oriented society. Unattached men
never lack for invitations, but the same isn’t true for a woman.
My neighbor,
Jenny Wallis—also a widow—has become a good friend. She’s a keen
gardener and suggested I join her gardening club. It’s run by a
man in the next suburb, Ronald someone, and it meets every
Thursday morning at his home. She tells me he is very
knowledgeable, and his own garden is quite magical, even though
he is divorced and lives alone.
I rather like
the idea of taking up gardening seriously. Steve was very
enthusiastic once he retired, but relied on his instincts more
than anything else. When seedlings were available in the plant
nursery, he would buy them, or pick up packets of seeds at the
supermarket. He got excited when they flourished, but it was
more good luck than good management, as the saying goes. Jenny
is far more scientific now that she’s been attending the
gardening club, and very ambitious in creating a rock garden and
a special herb garden. She’s even talking about putting in a
small pool with water lilies, as she’s never forgotten visiting
Monet’s garden at Giverney when she went to Paris many years
ago.
The other
attraction for joining is that it’s a good way to meet new
people. I admit, I’m very lonely now, and I don’t resent not
seeing our old friends so much, as it hurts to see them still in
couples while I must go on alone. I did think of returning to
teaching part-time, even volunteering, but there’s a lot of
truth in the saying: “You can’t go home again.” Much as you try
to recapture the past, it’s over, and you have to move on to new
pastures.
In theory, I
know this is true. The therapist I saw for grief counselling
after Steve died emphasized this. I can’t bury myself, even
though I wanted to back then. But I am reasonably healthy and
could live another twenty years—my mother was 88 when she died.
In some ways, I’m lucky. I don’t have a lot of money, but the
house is mine, and I can afford small luxuries if I want them.
For the last
six months, I didn’t care how I looked, but somehow the female
in me is starting to reassert itself. I’m going to the beauty
salon again to have my hair done, and last week I surprised
myself by putting on cosmetics for no particular reason. I guess
I was just tired of that drab, sad image in the mirror. I felt
angry a few months ago when well-meaning people would trot out
platitudes about time healing pain. The truth is the pain is
still there, but it’s not so sharp. It’s more a dull ache of
deprivation and loss. Yet, there’s also now an element of hope
for the future. I’ve decided I will go to the gardening club on
Thursday.
What an interesting life! Lots of book material in those adventures, I'd guess.
ReplyDeleteAmazing life. Amazing opportunities. So proud to call you a Prism colleague.
ReplyDeleteWow, Dvora, you are truly an extraordinary person!
ReplyDeleteIncredible! I'm exhausted, just reading about all you do! What an inspiration you are. Sounds like God has blessed you with writing talent so that you can bless others. Your '5 things' certainly blessed me! :)
ReplyDelete