Wandering Jew

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A lush Wandering Jew plant dominated my kitchen window sill. A dusting of silver on the leaves lent a light sheen to the stripes of deep magenta and pale teal. The plant kept sending magenta tendrils up and down the window and cabinets. I was constantly working to discourage it from spilling into the sink and sneaking into the dish rack.

After having forgotten to water it for a while, the plant started shedding dry leaves and stems. I finally remembered the plant, I over-compensated and watered it too much and the debris became slimy.

The plant was no longer lush, nor beautiful.

Shortly after I returned from a trip to Israel, when I was clearing the dish rack and sink of slimy debris, I gave up. I decided to reclaim my windowsill—I removed the Wandering Jew from the kitchen.

My kitchen windowsill was detritus free, no longer hidden by a curtain of leaves.

And there it was, my life, me. A Hanukkiyah (menorah) that I brought with me from Israel when I moved here, another that Bill, my now-ex-husband bought me when we traveled over Hanukkah to see his family, an empty jar of marmite, imported from England, an empty jar of lemon curd also imported from England, a glass prism with a dragon carved into it. Symbols of my past life—growing up in Israel, where I am still firmly rooted, my marriage, now dissolved, England, where I was born, a continuing influence throughout my life and the source of my accent, and dragon boating, the bridge between my past life and my life post-brain injury—the path that led me to the person that I am, that I am only beginning to understand.