The beauty of a martini

I never fully appreciated the not-so-humble martini until I met my husband. I grew up in a Jewish home, with a teetotaling mother and a father who mainly had a drink at home right before going out to avoid the inflated cost of a drink at a restaurant (and I love him for it--such cost cutting measures got me through college without loans). Which is to say that cocktail hour was never a thing in our house. Not so for my s.o. At 5 pm every day, his dad would announce "'tini time!" and rub his hands together excitedly. I am not at that point yet, but after a stressful week getting ready for vacation, my husband and i got through security and headed straight for the gate 9 martini bar, to truly kick off our vacation. Because there's something about that inverted V of a glass, something about the olive, something about the preparatory shaking that says Celebration. And my husband and I are ready for some of that. So, for the next few weeks, I will be blogging from abroad--to be specific, Istanbul and Israel, in honor of my nephew's bar mitzvah. I've been to Israel once before, right after college, and though I thought it was beautiful, there was a tiny sense of let down. Many, many people said to me that when the plane touched down on the tarmac, I would start crying (because I was in the homeland). Others said that if I didn't cry on the tarmac, then I would certainly cry at the Wall. I didn't end up crying anywhere, though I do remember being struck by the realization that most of the people surrounding me were Jewish--from the street sweepers to the crossing guards to the impossibly handsome uzzi-toting soldiers. I'm looking forward to seeing the country with a more adult eye and perspective, looking forward to exploring on my own (as opposed to on a tour), to soaking up the nature of the place like a "traveler" (as my husband likes to say) as opposed to a "tourist." And maybe I will discover a bit of spirituality along the way. Or maybe not. Shalom. Next stop--a quick overnight in Istanbul!