Kibbutz impressions

Today I had these impressions about the Kibbutz and the excavation:

Cloudy, cool morning;
Clear blue sky afternoon;
Soft, gentle evening;
Full moon and planets vying for attention.

concrete tiles, 10cm on a side, on the floor of the room;
buildings built with such random orientation one wonders if a compass has found its way here;

cooing of mourning doves throughout the day, a virtual cacophany of calls in the early morning;
blue, cool water in the pool contrasting with the heat of the day;
playing basketball in the pool;

the crunch of white gravel under the feet as I jog around the kibbutz permiter;
the ironic strains of 'A Man of Sorrows' from Handel's Messiah drifting up from the Pizza barn as I jog past;
Dolly Parton remixed with a Techno beat at the Friday party;
Bob Dylan turned Israeli rasping out his best hits in Hebrew;

Little dogs, big dogs, cute dogs, ugly dogs, dogs that yap, dogs that yawn in the hot shade;
New paint, peeling paint, paint that begins to fade;

Schnitzel at noon, schnitzel at night - I couldn't eat another bite;
Dining hall food - workaday stuff; Guest house food - not so bad; Bistro food - how does he do that in that tiny kitchen?
If it's Saturday, it must be Bistro.

Afternoon naps, late night parties, cards at the tables outside after Shabbat meal;
Conversations with friends, taking a ribbing for my cushy job, unintentional segregation, bonding.
Intellectuals debating textual criticism, guys sharpening knives and drinking beer while watching NASCAR;

Snoring roommates; waking up before dawn;
The 3rd week depression; frayed nerves snap, friends growl;

Questions about pottery, unintelligible writing,
'The Routine': backups, entering Loci, Buckets, Pottery lines and Material Culture lines.
The yearly discussion with either Barbara or Sherry about classification schemata.

The two paths to the dining hall: shortest and most shade;
Scooters, bikes, 3-wheeled 'chariots', golf carts, tractors, strange small cars, the vans;

IMing and emailing and blogging to keep in touch;
It never really seems real, much
as I may try.

Half-done with the season - knowing the tsunami still awaits.

Note to the reader: This post is intentionally unedited and stream of consciousness. To make sense of it would be a contradition in terms. It was written at the beginning of the last half of the season, which should be sufficient to explain it.