Baba

Last night, he told me he was feeling very cold and he wanted to know which medicine from America would help him. When I reached to feel his forehead, he jumped back like I had hot coals in my hand telling, "No, No! Ates yok! Ates yok! Soguk!" No, I don't have a fever, I'm cold. I told him to drink something warm. He decided to take Aleve.

My Baba is currently sitting at the breakfast table slurping his tea, inbetween sucking on his teeth to clean the breakfast out of the. He's wearing the same sweatpants, sweaters, and socks that he had on when I came four days earlier. Anne is too. So am I, kind of: I have a morning/night outfit, a work outfit, and a sleep outfit. That's the extent of my cultural adjustment.

Baba is methodically going through his shoebox of medicines. He carefully unpackages about 10 pills, then carefully picks up each one, popping them in his mouth one after another - then swallowing the whole bunch down with a glass of cold water. Then he shuffles over in sandals, his heels hanging half over the back edge. He plops on the couch, pulling on on glove for his shaky right hand and pulling down his polar fleece cap, sideways over his head. The cap has ear flaps and so he has to flip the ear flap up forms a mini-visor over his eyes. He's happy with his ways.