One fine Saturday...

It's not that exciting, but Tolga and I spent the day cleaning: sweeping, mopping, dusting, bathrooms, kitchen, bedrooms, closets, refrigerator, stove, bird cage, bookshelf. We blasted Dream Theater on the TV and worked.

Lunchtime we ordered Lahmacan, a very thin (almost like a tortilla, but square and much bigger) Turkish style pizza. We sprinkle fresh parsley on the top and squeeze lemon over it, and I have to drink ayran with it. Ayran is a salty yogurt drink. Kind of an acquired taste. I've confused ayran with milk before and poured it over my cereal. Not so good.

The weather was beautiful outside - we had our windows open and eventually decided to go for a walk. I mapped out the route before hand because Tolga doesn't necessarily like those kind of adventures. I have a list of things to buy - but mostly on my wish list. The street we walked down had furniture items at stunning prices. We came across a store with furniture that was a natural type of wood. Now I have been looking for natural kinds of woods, but most furniture here is lacquered up, looking shiny and plastic. This furniture was Indonesian and African.

I was surprised to find this place, and while I'm happy with the furniture and route we got, I couldn't help picturing an African living room . . . fun! We talked to the store operator, and in the end agreed on him making several pieces furniture for us - a bench/shoe rack for the hallway and to bedside tables. This also a surprise because I had concluded that Turkey doesn't make things out of wood, and carpentry was a lost art here . . . we'll see how it turns out.

On our way home, we passed a pub and decided to go in and play a game of pool together. This was another first for us - we had never played pool together.

Tolga won all three games.

A button

I realize these titles could be a potentially exciting essay on various topics, but I'm too literal I suppose. I'm actually referring to a button.

I stepped of the bus a month ago, or more, and my middle button popped off my jacket. Did I gain that much weight? No, it must have been the layering of clothes. (Yes, that's it I'm sure).

Well, I spent too long looking for this button that I heard land but couldn't find. The sidewalk was broken, the leaves were brown - it must have blended in just right.

So I've been to lazy to sew a new button on (Tolga suggested I take one from the top), and I've been draping my scarf over the coat. Today, I was walking home by the same place, and decided to look again.

Guess what I found?

A little faded.

 A little dirty.

 But undoubtedly . . .

my button.

Go away, come here

I have a student who I pulled to the side to discuss his missing paper. His English was very weak, but I had time on my hands so I allowed him to struggle through his limited vocabulary and making his very quiet sentences.

"When will you give me your paper?"
"Yes."
"No, when will you give me your essay, the biography."
"Uhhh. . . "
"Do you know essay?"
Nod.
"When - Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday - will you give it to me?"
"uhh . . . yarin"
"You'll give it to me tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"Tomorrow. Repeat."
"Tomorrow."
"What time?"
"What time?"
"No, don't repeat. What time" (pointing at my watch) "will you come to me and give me your essay?"
Staring, "umm. Uhhh."
"What time will you give me your essay? When?"
"Umm. 1 p.m."
"Ok. Good."

Then I motioned for him to go away with a little flick of my hand.

There is a very similar motion in Turkish that means "come here" - the hand is outstretched, palm down, and instead of the shooing away with your fingers, you bring the fingers in. Apparently, after a difficult conversation, especially when scolding a student - teachers do this meaning - okay, we're fine now, come and give me a hug.

So the boy stepped towards me, his arms open ready to hug me.


I had meant shoo.