School Doctor

I learned the other day we have a school doctor and I can go there whenever I want. Not that I ever want to go to the doctor . . . but Tolga wanted to take me to the hospital, which I thought was a little dramatic, so I agreed to go to the school doctor.

I knocked on the office door not sure whether the label said doctor or not, and not sure what the protocol was for showing up. The nurse and doctor where in the front room looking at a sheet of honey comb that someone had just brought as a gift for him from a nearby village. They welcomed me and shooed me into the second office to sit and have a chat. The doctor informed me, in English, that he has been a doctor for 25 years and doesn't perscribe antibiotics for every ailment. He must have treated many foreigners because he definitely addressed my foremost concerns. I told the doctor I had two problems. My eyelid was still infected, and my stomach was not happy.

He saw my eye right away when I took off my glasses and looked at it with his eye scope. He told me, "It is not bad. I have seen this many times and yours is not bad. It's not on the eye. I give you cream. You put on the door of your eye in the morning and the night."
"I've been using a cream"
"Yes, but I give you better cream. The eye will take the cream inside and clean the spot. If not, in one week, you must see an eye doctor and maybe they will do a small surgery."
"Surgery?!"
"Yes, but very small. Not bad. Just to clean the veins."
"Okay. My second problem is my stomach. It started hurting very bad on Thursday and . . ."
"Ah, yes." And he pulls out his handy-dandy scope and looks at my throat. "Ah yes. It's not bad. Many teachers tell me this in the beginning."
"Not my throat, my stomach."
"Oh! Sorry."

He then proceeded to prescribe me medicines that he insisted an infant could take, and a cream for my eye before he, the secretary and the pharmacist wished me a "Gec mic olsun" a phrase that sounds like "get Mitch Olson" but is a form of well wishing when one is sick or something bad has happened. It's an encouragement that "things will be better now."

Servants

In Turkey, there seem to be a lot of servants around. They are not called servants, but its the only word that seems to suit the job because we have no equivalent in the US. At my school, there are people that come and pick up my coffee cup (several times a day) to return the sink and wash. In the kitchen, a pot of tea is always available. After passing times, a person comes into the bathrooms and wipes down the counters and picks up the trash. After school, someone came buy to wash every teacher's board. While I was working, someone mopped under my feet.

Turkey 1
America 1 (see yesterday)

Yellow curbs

Where Minnesota becomes tiresome with its relentless regulations, Turkey is a country with inconsistent regulation. For example, in malls and parking lots there are usually security guards. In the mall entrance you have to pass through a metal detector, put your bag through a scanner, and sometimes be buzzed by the hand held scanner. The attendant in the parking garage today had an under carriage mirror and 3D goggles. The thing is, the seem to be scanning more out of curiosity rather than safety. The machines are always beeping, and no one is stopped.

It's kind of funny until you walk on sunny unmarked pavement and learn that you have little depth perception and that yellow paint smeared religiously as a national warning sign for a curb or curve or potential hazard has possibly prevented more accidents than I had ever imagined.

Coping techniques

"This is a dinosaur protecting my paper from the evil red pen"

Represent

This is the atrium at North High. The schools in the Twin Cities have
students from all over, especially refugees. As a result, flags,
interpreters, and multiple language greetings are often decorations at
the school.

Take a Break

Bad farm animals

Goals

Everybody likes to make SMART goals. I can't remember what that stands for, but it's a business thing.

At AF and WF and Target - there were always these goals that workers were trying to reach:

80% of the students will read at a level 3 or higher.

I will sell/provide 10 account upgrades this month.

We will make $103,000 tonight.

We will have less than 1% injuries.

etc.,

I struggle with these goals. The idea makes sense. In order for the company to show improvement, make ends meet - these goals need to be set and met. But as an individual, I feel so far removed from these goals. The goals seem arbitrary even. What does one team leader's goal of having "fast service" have anything to do with the numerous, complicated, or drastically different customer needs? So what if all the students score 100% on their exams - what's next? What do the numbers have to do with what the student wants or needs? Something is missing in these goals, I feel, like it is a great big trick on our human psyche - replacing our own desires/wants/needs with that of whatever industry we are living under.

I guess I bring it up because I want my own goals that aren't influenced by the industry around me. I write it, because I budget every month, every cent - and I run different scenarios through my head, and the more I do, the more I ask myself, what is it, exactly, that I want/need here?

K-12

In elementary school I'm "cool".

My earrings are pretty. My glasses are cool. My hair is pretty. Even my handwriting is awesome.

In high school, I'm not.

I'm not sure I'm even a blip on the radar. Come to think of it, I can't hardly remember one teacher in high school, let alone a substitute.

In elementary school I get hugs, letters, pictures, and sometimes tears.

In high school I still get some eye rolls.

What happens to us as we grow up?

What to write

I always have many things to write about until I sit down. Then I sit down and my mind instantly draws a blank. I suppose if I sat here patiently something would eventually return to my mind, but instead I'm thinking that my feet are cold and I need to get some sleep, so maybe I'll just go to bed . . . but hey, at least I wrote something.

Forgiveness

Forgiveness has been on my mind a lot. Most times, I push it away. Most times, it resurfaces. Most times, it resurfaces in scenarios that cause me to do some self-examining. For example: after working hard at my minimum wage job I'm told to "pick up the pace". My indignation is pretty instantaneous. There is no stoicism left in me. For example: after budgeting and grocery shopping and counting every penny, opening my mother's fridge I find three open containers of sour cream, two open containers of three different kinds of dressing (yes, that's six in total), three partially used ketchups, two partially used mustards, and left overs from yesterday, three days ago, seven days ago, and over two weeks ago . . . all right, I was sidetracked by the fridge . . . anyhow, I see and feel myself overreacting to the wrong things. Tolga said the other day, "we can't be mad at our brother, he shares your DNA, he's a part of you. You are just being angry with yourself." His words rung true with me, I know I'm not happy with myself. Sometimes I use the line, "well, if mom can change, then I'll know there's hope for me." Other times I'll think, "Well, there's lots of things I can't control, so let me tackle (or freak out on) the things I can "control". Sometimes I think of Janie -a friend who I remember telling me of her hurt and unforgiveness and thinking I knew what she meant while not understanding how she could hold onto unforgiveness. It was a foreign concept to me. Maybe struggle is a foreign concept as well. I've always felt that I've struggled like the next person, but maybe I haven't. Maybe I haven't overcome anything yet. Maybe, when I think of my life, I've been pretty spoiled and my complaints are pretty pathetic.

A good excuse

Tomorrow? No problem.

I will have a lot more to post tomorrow. I write this because I think that tomorrow I will have more time because I'm only working at one job tomorrow AND Tuesday, so that means I might be able to tackle some of my ambitious goals:

Study Turkish

Apply to schools

Read book

Stare at finances

Attempt to organize finances

Update writing logs (I have at least five)

Make dinner

Make cookies

Watch my favorite show

Begin daily exercise routine

Big sigh.

I think I have to rethink this, but its really hard for me to put a lid on my imagination.

Strength Training?

I've let this go for 8 days. Yikes. So much for resolutions, but I still have good intentions. Like, I still intend on starting to exercise everyday.

Tomorrow.

When I was working, one of my biggest problems became prioritizing. I had too many things to do - things that I wanted and things that were required and things that I required of myself - and the result was resentment that I couldn't do the things I wanted. I wasn't able to let go of my obligations.

I was wondering recently, "What if I had quit my job? Midyear. Just acknowledge it for what it was, and quit." I didn't do that because I wanted to succeed and stick-to-it, and I couldn't bring myself to abandon the students and my co-workers. When I was thinking of this, I felt grateful for my jobs that I have now (because I feel very little obligation).

I think, if I had a regular job, I would still fall prey to putting the wrong things first again - putting the job, the students ahead of family, self, etc. Does that make me still a child - unable to take the responsibility of decision, still much better off when things are being decided for me (by fate, powers that be, etc.)? Honestly, I think I quite easily shirk the responsibility of choice and struggle mightily when I cannot. For example, I can't decided what to do about a leaky pipe complaint from a neighbor. Do I do nothing? Do I write her and say I can't afford to find out what the problem is? Do I file with insurance and have them come look at a non-problem? Do I close my eyes and hope it goes away (and why am I leaning so much towards this?). Somewhere along the way I think I came to believe that my decisions needed to be "right" always. And maybe I started to believe that "right" also meant "perfect" and "without pain" and "only good things" and as I've experienced otherwise I think I've begun to lean towards not making decisions (and thus not taking responsibility for the consequences of this).

For example, I can't decide what to do about my MN teaching license. I am irate to the point where I am not sure it is worthwhile to continue teaching considering the investment. And so, it's not my fault, it's Minnesota. Similarly, I am dragging my feet on legal action against our property managers. I do not want to go this route, I just want everything to work out all right. I'm tired of struggling.

I told Tolga the other day, "I wish I were stronger." But it turns out, I'm not.

Near-sighted

It's hard to stick to plans these days. I've realized it's directly related to stress. Stress incapacitates. It's hard to think clearly under stress, and the more stress . . . the more you can hit me upside the head with a board and I will still be slow to respond from the fog. And, when one good thing happens, when one event suggests hope - I am suddenly able to spin 100 plates, and spin them exuberantly.

It's hard to set priorities as well. It's hard to have priorities, because priorities are sort of close to goals, and goals you either reach or you don't, and when you don't it's kind of like another failure - and I'm tired of those.

I wish I could be more noble. Stronger in vision.

Jiggling the nerves out

I ran in to Cal and Sar (Uncle and Aunt) at Target the other day. They were like warm bread. I gave Sar a hug, losing myself in her fur coat, and Cal a side arm squeeze. Their smiles reminded me of hope and peace and faith. Their smiles reminded me that my worries were irrelevant to Love. Their smiles made me sigh.

I taught gym today. They were good classes, and the teacher had set them up so well - the students were so good at solving problems themselves, and the games were so cute. We started off with a warm-up, "Around the Horn", where I played music and each student had a chance to come up with some crazy action as a "warm-up". It was so clever and fun. Students would jiggle their arms, or dance crazily, or just jump up and down. They were getting out energy, practicing creativity, and we were all grinning and laughing. That's my kind of gym.

Hillcrest

Today I was at North teaching high school Math. It was a pretty low key day, and I left early to walk home. Tolga could have picked me up, but the school was right next to the bike trail, and a leisurely walk home. It’s cold, but I had on long johns, a scarf, gloves and a hat. Sometimes I forget the cold isn’t that bad if you’re dressed for it. It’s about a mile walk home, and I was looking down the trail remembering my walks through Harlem, or through school downtown when I had no money for the subway. It’s a lot different here. For one, there was only one lonely walker on the trail, besides me. Tolga was coming to meet me, coming from the other direction, we saw each other just as each were coming over the crest of the bridge. I laughed and held my arms open dramatically waving to my long lost husband. He did the same, and we goofily ran to each other in what felt like slow motion through the snow. By the time I got to him my teeth were cold from smiling to the wind.

We have had hard days. Most people have. And then again, these days are blessed as well with all the things in our lives and families. Some days I despair, and everyday I hope to be a little bit stronger.

What we do in the Midwest

Jan. 10^th, 2010

Today is Tolga’s second birthday. We had champagne with a good meal. It was my chicken curry recipe that I gave my dad to cook but my mom woke up and somehow took this exotic ethnic dish and turned it into a Midwestern hotdish. Yeesh.

It was our first day off in a while together, so Tolga and I barely slept in, he made a pancake breakfast, we talked with his family on the Internet, then went out.

We went to the museum because Sherah had free tickets. Turns out, I’ve never been to the Minneapolis Institute of Art, but its very much like The Met (in Manhattan) – just a smaller version. We went particularly to visit the section that had a traveling exhibit from the Louvre and it was quite the surprise but I don't really have anything else to write about it, because . . . We also went sledding with the kids. Owen had called me and said (at volume 10), “HEY RACHEL, DO YOU WANT TO GO SLEDDING WITH US? I WANTED TO GET THIS NEW SLED WITH STAR WARS ON IT BUT IT COST FIFTEEN MORE DOLLORS. SO YOU WANT TO GO SLEDDING? I’M FREAKING OUT! I’M F-R-E-A-K O-U-T! (He’s six and a really good speller). So Tolga and I got ready and headed out. I put on long johns, heavy pants, and snow pants, a thermal shirt, a button up shirt, and a coat. I can’t remember the last time I went outside dressed warm enough, but today I was a warm (albeit shapeless) body.

We met Owen and Asher at the top of the hill. Their cheeks were already red and snot was running down Asher’s nose. He was excited, and I took him on the first run down the hill with me. The sled had a wheel you could steer, to which Asher jammed it to the left so we zipped down, making a J-turn towards the end. Asher hopped out and said, “I turned! Did you see that? Jingle bells batman smells . . .” (I think he was happy) . . . and proceeds to climb up the hill. He soon asks me for help, reaching out his hand with a mismatched mitten hanging loosely exposing his bare wrist. His feet were moving but he wasn’t making any progress up the hill so I came up behind him, lifting up his coat to help him in his forward motion. We got to the top and Owen stole the sled from me and promptly went down three more times (being sure to set the sled down before he reached us to steal some more rides). We also found a good jump, had some near misses on hill collisions, and one snow spray in the face (to which Asher smacked Tolga, crying, “It’s your fault”).

Sledding sure is fun.

What comes out of our mouths

We went to the Minnesota DMV for Tolga’s fourth attempt at passing the written exam. He didn’t pass, and came out and stated, “I’m an idiot. You are going to have to go to those classes and become one of those special teachers (Special Ed) so you can teach me too.”

I thought about it later, Tolga is very rarely self-deprecating. He normally has a strong sense of self, very strong especially considering our circumstances that constantly challenge our sense-of-self. It is sobering to see his strength and realize at the same time how vulnerable we are to being torn down – and how necessary it is for us to always be building one another up.

I taught at the Gladstone school today – a school for severe behavior problem students. They were much improved since the last time I was there (but when I mentioned it to one staff member, she repeatedly contradicted my oberservations so I finally gave up). Anyhow, one girl was feeling sick and kept complaining. Finally, she dramatically put her hand to her mouth saying she may throw up. I looked at her eyes, wasn’t sure, but decided it wouldn’t hurt to have her go to the bathroom. Good thing, because no sooner had she entered and I heard the gushing dump of liquid into the toilet to which she immediately announced, “I threw up!”, and then threw up again.

Blech!

I think there is a symbolic connection here between building one another up and vomit, but I'm too tired to make it.

Expect better?

I was watching the 7th graders work today and I started thinking about my old classes. The students I had today worked so hard, listened so well - I gave an assignment that might have been a little to hard and they were determined to make a valiant effort anyhow, scribbling down notes as fast as they could.

Why can I tell a kid from Roseville or Stillwater to do an assignment and he or she will, while one from Brooklyn, or even St. Paul, won't? We used to always discuss ways we could make our students feel successful, so he or she wouldn't be frustrated and stop trying. Often, that meant giving below grade-level work. It was hard for me to understand how students could simply accept the cycle of failure. How many wouldn't even try - if it sounded too hard, the name didn't even make it to the top of the page. But, watching the students today I could feel their confidence, their history of success, their trust in a future education. It's empowering, and they are up for the task of a challenging assignment. I was them as a student. I am also the Brooklyn student. The cycle of failure is demoralizing. Why try? Why hope? Why put the effort into something that clearly isn't benefiting me? Kind of like our job search. I have this underlying belief, expectation, that our experience and education will get us sound jobs and stable homes, but this prolonged period has lowered my expectations, and even my desires. Tolga has discourage me from this thinking since before our marriage. Encouraging me to expect better for myself, to make higher goals, to apply for better jobs.

Can I?

Expressions

Tolga wants a Playstation. Amidst everything we need - he really wants a Playstation. He requires very little in life, but if asked what he wants to spend his money on, that's the answer he'd give you. I was a little disgusted at first - how could we spend money on something so frivilous? And he just shrugs, well - I did ask him what he wants. And there's that bind once again. We have goals, we are working hard to get out of debt - debt that we can't see the end of with two mortgages, so at what point do you stop and indulge yourself? I started thinking back, what's the last expensive thing I got? A hair cut, color and updo for my sister's wedding. When I was on my own, how often did I indulge myself? It's hard to remember now, but looking at my tax returns from the past two years its hard to fathom the kind of income I once made. So with our gift money we decided to buy somethings we need, and some things we want. The thing about Tolga is that he hangs on to things loosely, and so while I can tell you where we spent every cent, it doesn't show the selflessness of Tolga. He also wanted me to get an iPod, or even better, an iPhone. We talked about it, debated the value of it, decided to go "look" and then I spent about thirty minutes trying to figure out if this was a rational choice. Tolga says, "Do you like it? You deserve it. I want you to be happy and have many good things." Tolga's unhindered love frees me more every day, and its not about the phone or the money or the jobs.

I taught music class today - the show choir was practicing for their performance - and the song they were singing was "I just want to be happy!" There were a lot of dance moves, a beautiful voiced soloist, and the comic gamut of high school characters examining themselves in the mirrors as they danced and sang.

There is something about their expressing love and joy, some awkwardly and some boldly, that was so beautiful and I missed. Maybe I need to join a show choir.

This year

It has been below zero for the last couple of days, but my car keeps starting which I'm pretty impressed by. I don't have far to go, but it is fortunate that we have working means to get to and from. Tomorrow it's back to school and juggling the many tasks that don't seem to have answers . . . yet. I hope this year will bring positive resolve. I hope that rings will be found. Debts will be paid. Professions will begin again. Health will increase and we will be near our families.

New Year

Tolga and I celebrated the New Year together. I came home from work, woke him up, we kissed, and then went to bed. Tolga had to work at four in the morning. He dreamed that night that we had trouble with our marriage, and woke up feeling anxious. He went to work, working hard until about eleven. He was working in the backroom, taking care of the garbage where it was cold and he is breaking down cardboard. At some point in those last twenty minutes of work, Tolga lost his wedding ring. He looked for it, ended his shift, and proceeded to search for two more hours to no avail. When Tolga came home, I knew he was tired, but he was so upset too. "I lost my ring," he blurted out. It was an awful feeling. It's only a symbol, but it had such a deflating effect. Words couldn't fix it or make it better. It was a lost.

In our apartment was a ring left behind from the previous tenant. I had left it in the cabinet, never moving it, not sure if it was a jewelry or a pipe fitting. I brought it out now, and put it on Tolga's finger.

For some reason, it made us both really happy and hopeful.

Love and Love

For this past year, and this new year, I am always grateful for Tolga. What an unexpected gift – a gift that is precious and complicated. Something I have to protect by remaining vulnerable. Something that we together have to stand side-by-side, knit together, while remain unflinching to our circumstances. I tend to flinch pretty easily, Tolga much less (possibly because of his stubbornness). I am afraid and anxious about so many things, and Tolga keeps coming back to our starting point and ending point: we have our love. It’s so simple. And easier than anger or hate or frustration. “You are so pricsious” (Tolga pronouncing precious). Bitanim benim, jenim benim. My bright. My heart. Or, when we speak with his parents, it’s the same showering of love: yavrim, kizim benim, bitanim benim. My dear, my daughter, my bright, my bride. My husband, his family – they live the scripture – “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” With their expressed love, I feel stronger, abler, more hopeful, more faith, more protection . . . we will do this together.