Walk #2

I called home to say I was on my way, and my Anne asked if I wanted to walk with her if I wasn't too tired. She is walking for my sake, because she is afraid I will be bored at home. But I think she was excited to wear her new outfit too.

She was all ready when I got home. Her cute new Nike jogging suit, painted nails, and a big smile. We decided to eat first, so Anne changed her top, because she didn't want to get the new one dirty.

After dinner, I told her to put on a t-shirt underneath her jacket so the t-shirt could absorb the sweat and she could zip up, or unzip the jacket as she needed. Anne easily complied. It makes me feel guilty actually. Am I just pushing my Western ways on her, again? Does it really matter how she dresses or walks?

I'm torn on this one, because on one hand it does: heating, cooling, exercising, stretching, heart rate, hygiene - they all have to do with health. On the other hand, why push her? Just do what Tolga does and accept her as she is. Anne is a warm, gentle, and big heart-ed person. Let her do as she chooses and be there to help.

So we walked. Slowly. For fifteen minutes. And then. She began. To limp.

I stopped right away and offered to take a cab home. I actually didn't have any money, but I figured I could find the fare in the coin jar at home. Anne smiled, said no, and limped more.

I offered a couple of more times. She smiled, said no, and limped on.

And now, she is laid up on the couch with muscle creams.

support systems

Last night, Anne's leg was getting worse. She was limping dramatically and huffing everytime she had to move. She's a hard one to gauge for pain. She complains a lot about little things, but I worry because forever in my mind I will have this image of her coming out of heart surgery smiling. Smiling. The whole week she smiled. Laughed even though it hurt, I'm sure.

Then again, something is always hurting her. Last time she was here, it was her jaw. It was clicking. I asked her if it hurt. She said yes, and then proving it to me by making it click and jumping in her chair. I offered to take to her the hospital to get it looked at (because that's what we do in Turkey, we go to the hospital in we are ill). She said no and continued to take slow painful bites off and on throughout her visit. The time before it was pain from her scar. It was itching and tight. I rubbed vitamin E on it and told her to rub it. She complained it hurt. I said it was normal scar tissue.

So I was annoyed but worried about her leg last night. She said she thought it might be hurting from her surgery. Her heart surgery. Her heart surgery back in September.

Throughout the night I heard Baba getting up to go to the bathroom a lot. When I checked on him around three in the morning, he was sitting on the coach. Lights on. When he saw me, he said, "Carnem agriyor". My stomach hurts.

Tolga laughed and said, "It's like having Owen and Asher sleep over."

in-laws

I woke up early this morning to clean. I had put it off all day yesterday, so I was up at 6am today to start cleaning. Not that Tolga's parents would mind a messy home, but my mother would and some how this was my driving force.

The in-laws were coming by bus, and then by taxi. I was expecting them around 7:30. Not that I could have everything clean by 7:30, but at least the living room for them to take a nap. I was in the middle of cleaning the stove when my doorbell rung. I had been expecting a phone call that they were on their way, but instead, Anne was outside my door.

They were both very cute. Happy and excited about their adventure to Ankara. Baba sat down at the table to read his newspaper, Anne sat down with me to chat for an hour or so. I'm not exactly sure what we talked about. I think we gossiped some.

We had breakfast together. I got a newspaper and some bread for Baba. Then I laid out some pillows and blankets for Baba's naptime.

My in-laws don't require much. They are happy with pretty much anything - which is good for most things in life, but unfortunate for someone who takes on their seeming lack of concern.

For example, I like taking showers.
I think everybody should like taking showers.
Often.

I also like clean clothes.
Everyday.
Preferably outfits that can be rotated so everyday seems new.

I also like heating and cooling systems. To be clear, I like heating systems in the winter, and cooling systems in the summer. And while my in-laws are perfectly happy with themselves and accepting of their lives, and while I try really hard to be like them. I still meddle some.

Anne was wearing a non-breathable sport outfit. She wasn't wearing an undershirt so she was sweating up a stinky steam in the suit. I suggested we buy her an undershirt and she wanted a yellowish-orange one to match the stripe down the side of the suit. We were also looking for a more breathable zip-jacket. A jacket she could zip up when she was cold, and unzip when she was hot. (Tolga has trouble with this one too - both seem to break out in profuse sweating and never consider removing the jacket). I'm sure Anne was tired too, but ever since I had mentioned taking her shopping at the bazaar, she was excited to go. She doesn't shop often, or ever, really. And when she does, everything is cok parla. But, I think she's getting used to me taking her shopping. . .

Anne was surprisingly picky. I had found a coat for her in the color she liked, but she was afraid it wouldn't be breathable, like the jacket she was wearing. Most women's coats were to tight on her. But in the end, we left with several shirts, two pants, and a jacket.

We walked back home, and Anne hasn't really moved much since. She took a nap, complained of her leg hurting, took another nap. Same with Baba. They fought over the television programs once I showed them how to turn it on. (I had been kind of holding out on that one). Much to my chagrin, the show they can always agree on is the news. Alla-hala . . .

I made us a roast chicken and vegetables for dinner. I liked it. But like I said, they don't require much - so I suppose they liked it too.

community outlier

Tolga went to Elazig on Thursday. He drove there to take care of some complicated problems. He was very stressed about the trip for many good reasons, but the reigning reason was he would be leaving me. And, "I haven't done that since we were married."

I didn't mention at the time that he left me for two weeks when we first moved here too.

I did mention that I don't mind being alone. Tolga had called his mother and asked her to come and stay with me. I think Turkish people in general don't believe in being alone, but it really goes against my nature, as I need alone time. I cannot be with people all the time. Even at school, I will find an isolated room where I can read or grade papers, or simply listen to music with out talking to anyone.

I am also the reverse. I am very sociable and love my colleagues, but I credit this to my alone time.

I want to go for walks myself, I want to cook myself, I want to shop for myself . . . yes, its probably a good thing that I can't stay at home and indulge only my wants. And my wants are so petty in comparison to Tolga's concern. So the in-laws are coming Sunday it seems, and another adventure begins.


They're going to sleep on my couch and watch dramatic news programs on my TV.

cell phones

In Turkey, most people drop everything to answer a phone. Partly cultural. Partly because we don't have voice mail. Tolga rarely misses a phone call, and if he does, he returns the call instantly. One day, a cousin called him around 10pm, but Tolga dropped the phone onto the ground before the number could register. Tolga called about five friends asking, "Did you call me?" before letting it go. I shook my head at this, saying "They person will call back if it's important."

About four weeks later, we learned this cousin was mad at us for never returning her phone call.

In America, Tolga would always answer your call, or call you right back. It's refreshing. It is a clear message - I'm not too busy to talk to you. I'm not to busy to say, "can I call you right back." And, if I've missed your call, I will call you right back.

It's a stunning concept. I know.


Of course, the flip side is the fact that everything is dropped when the phone rings. No one screens their calls. It's impolite. I actually get some suspicious phone calls, now and then, and I don't answer my phone. Tolga will answer my phone if I don't and say "Who's this?"

A couple of times, I've missed people from work - and I didn't call the persons back. This was before I understood the rule. The first person, I didn't call back because I thought she had called me by mistake and hung up. The second person, I didn't know the sound of my ringer. Either way, I've since learned . . . but I still won't stop a conversation or meeting or call for the phone.

Realizing this the other day, I decided this could be confusing with Tolga, so I said - "If I can't answer the phone, and it's important, just call me back right away, and I'll know."

Yesterday, I got to my phone and I had 7 missed calls from Tolga. I hadn't checked my phone all day. He was calling again in the middle of a meeting and I left the meeting to take the call. Tolga was in a bit of panic. He was calling me to tell me that there was trouble with his work and he would have to drive to the field in the morning. He would be gone for two weeks. And, so he called his mom to come stay with me, and she would be there in the morning.


I will from now on attach my phone to my personal being.

Fun with Dick and Jane

Tolga and I like this movie.

They both lose/quit their jobs. The best jobs they can get are for him at Kost Mart were he is reduced to taking a urine test, and she at a health club where she lies about knowing Jeet Kon Do. (They both lose these jobs within the day). They have to sell the furniture to survive. Even their lawn is repossessed. Rock bottom is hit when Dick is fighting with immigrants for day jobs and is locked up by INS, and Jane has an allergic reaction as a medical test subject.

That night, Dick is looking at his wife's swollen face and says, "I still think your beautiful'. He goes outside, and loses it. He tears up pieces of lawn from around the neighborhood to "get back his lawn." It's an ugly patch job of a lawn, but Jane in the morning gasps, "It's beautiful." Their faces swollen (Dick from a punch to the jaw), they sigh at their small triumph and unsuccessfully try to kiss each other.

The show is a comedy. But its also painful. We can relate. The loss, misfortune and the failures. And, the movie is dear. Through their fears and panic, they are each others support. They support each other. They take turns freaking out. They laugh at each other. They are on each others' side.

Not an easy thing to do during hard times. Granted these times are condensed moments with more realistic effects of stress being edited out. But, the gist is there.

Except at their rock bottom moment, they get the final notice from the bank, and this is when they turn to a life of crime.

I read a book called "The Higher Power of Lucky". It was a girl who eaves dropped on AA meetings and learned that everyone who had it tough and then experienced some sort of cathartic change were those that hit rock bottom and begin to seek a higher power. So the girl, Lucky, decides to look for the higher power because she's looking for things to change.

No matter what the situation, grand or small. I hope that it doesn't always take rock bottom for us to look for the higher power.

In the end, the couple are able to restore millions and are a part of redistributing the money to those that had lost their life's savings. They succeed, and share their success.

I like good movie endings.

10 reasons not to get a dog

1) They are dirty
2) They bark
3) They stink
4) We work full time, no one is home
5) No yard
6) No place to leave it during a holiday
7) Too many wild dogs in the country
8) The landlord said no
9) They are expensive (shots, etc.)
10) Don't want it in the yard in Kusadasi


We decided this a while ago. But, lately we've been visiting pet stores. We almost got a kitten last week. In Istanbul, we went to the pet bazaar and almost left with a little pincher. I don't even like little dogs. Today sent me a picture of a beagle.

My defenses are weakening.
Maybe we'll get a cat instead.

perfection . . . redemption

My nephews like things perfect.

One has to be successful the first time or he wavers between crying and quitting.
The other needs his socks pulled up snug, no wrinkles, no bumps.

I know those feelings. I'm sure we all do. We're all kind of weak. We're not the heroes of my imagination - the heroes that in the face of danger wield their swords and scream "Freedom!", but rather, we are the weaklings cowering in the corner and crying "Why me?"

I spent a weekend, a long while back, watching the Lord of the Rings series. I was moved for at the time, it reached a little too deeply. In the face of ten thousand Orcs and other horrible creatures. With middle-earth in ruins. With a highly unlikely strategy resting on the success of two hairy little hobbits . . . in the face of terror and odds beyond my imagination, in spite of impending doom: they kept fighting and hoping.

Sometimes I think if my enemies were a physical creature I could stab with a sword, this whole struggle might be a lot more satisfying.

But who am I kidding, more likely I would scream myself into a not-so-heroic catatonic state.

Or more likely, in a non-blockbuster production: I'd just try to hide.

I don't like to acknowledge the ugliness of this world because then I have to acknowledge this world is not perfect. And then I have to accept that this world is not perfect. And that means I have to accept others, loved ones as well as enemies, as imperfect. And, worst of all - accepting myself, as I am, as I've been accepted. That redemption is for me too . . . that's an idea that has been just a marble rolling around in my brain. Something I just keep looking at, but not really touching as it rolls and clatters against the walls of my perceptions.

markers

One of our exercises in Bible Study was to make a time line of my life, divided into fifths. For each fifth in my life, I was to make note of significant events, or traumas, in my life. Births or deaths in the family. Salvation. Relocation. Financial difficulties. Health issues. Graduation. Moments where God intervened in my life.

I made the timeline, inserted my markers - and I realized, there are things that will mark all our lives . . . but it is my choice what is a marker in my life. And maybe, the things that have "marked" my life so far, are not necessarily the things I want as markers in my life.

Either that, or I missed the whole point of the Bible Study

my dressage

There are some things I know. Somethings that are imprinted deeply in my soul, and I'm not sure how it got there. Maybe I was taught these things, but it is deeper than that - its a knowing (and accepting) in my heart.

When Tolga and I got married, those first few months, some things rose to the surface of me that I just knew to be careful. Everything in me felt caution. Be careful what I choose. Be careful with what I say. Especially, be careful with how I think.

I understood in the core of my being how sacred marriage was, and, how vulnerable we all are . . . no matter who we are . . . to begin to taint or poison ourselves and each other.

Becoming one with another, just changed my awareness of my vulnerabilities. I found myself feeling jealous, suspicious, or just plain insecure. I would sit and shake my head at myself, well aware of how irrational my feelings were. Yet, there it was - the dangerous seed of a thought.

And so, we find ourselves in a strange dressage between the gallop of loving one another unconditionally, and the reigns we must put on our minds and mouths.

A glimpse of how we might live and hope.

wanting

I think we are supposed to hope for things, but for me I always think its a little dangerous. I tend to hope big. Possibly unrealistically. And usually superficially. Like, I hope for mansions and fame and fancy things.

And then, there are other times - I don't want to want anything. I don't want to hope for the simplest things because it will inevitably lead to wanting things that aren't necessary or necessarily good for me, and the want is insatiable.

The stubborn side of me decided hope involves too much disappointment. It's too dangerous.

Reason tells me there has to be a middle ground. Probably has something to do with accepting things as they are, living in the present, being thankful, and many other reasonable attitudes.

I'm sure I put my wanting on the people around me too. Tolga said the other day: the way to win someone is to accept them.

I tried to swallow that one, but I choked on it.

It's tolga-ism.

Just accept him? Her? Everything?
Ugh.


I don't have to look at that too long to realize that I would first have to accept myself.
Mansions, fame and fancy things or not.

waiting for perfect

I was told today our school was about to reorganize. It is an improvement as a whole. Class sizes will be smaller.

I did the math for my classes and figured it would change my workload from 150 students to almost 300 students.

When I mentioned this to the director, his response was: I have confidence in you.



I have confidence in several things as well . . .

another American-Turk combination

We met one of my colleagues for coffee the other day. I think she was just looking for a buffer for her mother-in-law. My friend has lived here eleven years and her mother-in-law is a pretty astounding woman. In several ways.

First of all she's a doctor. She's in her seventies, and went to university in the sixties . . . and considering the culture, this is impressive. She is an odd combination of education and superstition.

When she sat down to join us for coffee, my Anne said something to the effect that we were so lucky to have such beautiful brides. The woman mentioned she was still worried that my friend what leave her son. I guess this is regardless of the fact that they've been married for 27 years.

My Anne mentioned that friend's son was so handsome and smart. The grandmother mentioned that his older brother was more handsome and smarter.

I'm instantly thankful for all the caring mothers (and grandmothers) in this world.

professional passport

When I came here, I was given the impression I could a job anywhere because of my degrees and experience. I ended up taking the first place I was offered because I knew one person at the school. I'm happy with the choice, and it has been a great year teaching. I'm enjoying teaching again, something that I had been afraid was lost.

I am tempted to look into other schools for many reasons, but it comes down to my continual feeling that I was hired first for my American passport, and having a degree and experience was an irrelevant detail.

The main load of teaching is taken on by Turkish teachers - even the teaching of English. My role is quite small in the school, which has been a pleasant relief. I simply see my students two times a week and practice speaking English.

I've since added objectives, assessments, and support materials to the program - but only out of my own initiatives.

Today I had to do a performance evaluation. I was to choose "meets standard", and if I thought I exceeded the standard, I was to choose this. If I thought I exceeded standards, I was to prove it. While the questions were professional, detailed, and in English (yeah!) - they didn't seem to apply to the hired passports. For example - I don't do cross-curricular planning, because that would require translations. Or extra-curriucular activities - because they would need to be offered to the natives (that's me). Or support of school regulations - that's assuming I was told the policies and regulations . . . in English.

I don't like performance oriented evaluations. I tried a year of action plans and lots of other educational jargon in the past, and I fell apart. The evaluations are logical, but they taint my soul. It's the child in me - why can't I just enjoy being a teacher?

The Scandinavian in me ticked "meets standards" in all categories and left it that.

Confirmitzvah

Maybe these things have lost their meaning, and have become just a religious ceremony. And maybe inventing my own ceremony is just as limiting - but I've done it anyhow: a confirmitzvah. In a bar mitzvah, I like the idea of a specific point in a teenager's life where he/she becomes accepted into the adult community. I think it's a crucial transition. While the confirmation, is similar, it's a public confession of your faith in Christ.

But maybe 13's a little young. I remember more clearly Stephen's bar mitzvah. He studied Hebrew for a few years in school, and in front of the congregation, the Rabbi questioned him: "What have you concluded from your studies of the Isrealites exodus from Egypt and their time spent in the wilderness?" Stephen summed up his studies of the Isrealite's rebellion with the phrase "Listen to God or die."

Today I attended a Luthern Evangelical confirmation. I had forgotten what it meant to be confirmed. I remember the feeling of being confirmed. I remember now having to choose a verse for myself, and not wanting to pick a cliche verse (again, maybe 12-13 is too young). I can't remember if my confirmation was official though.

It was my colleagues daughter. I only just learned her denomination because I was pre-warned that if I wasn't Luthern Evangelical I couldn't participate in the communion. My colleague's parents participated via Skype on computers in the corners of the room. Her pastors had flown in from the States.

I found that pretty impressive that a denomination could relocate to another country and still insist on liturgy and doctrine. We chanted and sang hymns and followed a script. The balcony door was open with a Turkish flag hanging down, and I wondered - how much of a witness is this? How different is this group from fundamental Muslims or orthodox Jews?

And yet, there we were - complete with the polyester suits and protestant hair cuts sprayed in pastoral comb overs.

and then there's a limit

I think I am pretty I adaptable, but I had my colleague who has been living here for 11 years and still wearing cardigans tell me that I have to adapt.

So maybe I haven't.

Another colleague who's been living here six years told me that sometimes she hits her limits with Turkish, and its normal.

Glad to hear its normal. Over the weekend I think I used all my Turkish words trying to communicate, so that by Monday morning, I couldn't even remember how to say good-bye in Turkish.