My friend's husband is a hunter. Like, he takes a pickup truck, some rifles and his dogs on the weekends to different places. He mostly shoots wild boar. He skins it, brings it home and his wife divides up the meat and throws it in the deep freeze.
And he's not from Texas or West Virginia or anything like that. He's Turkish.
Tolga and I walked down to this friend's house last night. We were delivering some gifts Tolga had brought back from Elazig for their help with my mother-in-law.
I also wanted to see their hawk.
Cem had been hunting one day and came across a baby bird that had fallen from its nest. He felt bad for the bird and brought it home. They nursed it along and now it's grown, has feathers and talons and sits on a meat tray outside their window. Cem shoots pigeons with his pellet gun in the morning to feed the bird.
It's quite impressive.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
cut the moral
I was reviewing a book for next year. It held two short stories, fairy tales actually - The Happy Prince and the Selfish Giant. I was browsing the books, creating some overall plans, and previewing vocabulary. I hadn't read The Selfish Giant before.
In the story, there is a Giant who builds a wall so children can't play in his garden. He notices, eventually, that only winter and storms come to his garden, never summer or spring. One day, he sees a boy in his garden crying. He feels sorry for the boy and goes over to help the boy climb his tree. The giant realizes how selfish he's been and opens up his garden to the children, but never sees the crying boy again. He grows old and one day sees the boy again. The boy has wounds on his hands. The giant is upset and he asks what the wounds are from. The boy responds the wounds are from the nails. Love has put them there. Then the giant dies and is happy. To paraphrase.
I was a little shocked when I read this story. And I immediately began quizzing some of the Turkish teachers asking, "Do you understand the reference here? Do you get the meaning?" No one did. It was completely out of their context of experience. When I explained it's reference its direct reference to Jesus Christ, I was met with some shock and horror. "You can't teach that!"
Besides that its a second language, religion isn't taught in schools. I am surprised how unaware people are of other religions. I laughed when I was told I couldn't teach the direct relation to the Bible. One, because I'm not sure how I would. And two, without it - well, it was the entire point of the story. It was the moral. And, how can you explain a story that ends in the garden with a boy who has wounds on his hands and a dead but happy giant?
One response was, "Kids, don't worry about those questions, let's talk about love."
In the story, there is a Giant who builds a wall so children can't play in his garden. He notices, eventually, that only winter and storms come to his garden, never summer or spring. One day, he sees a boy in his garden crying. He feels sorry for the boy and goes over to help the boy climb his tree. The giant realizes how selfish he's been and opens up his garden to the children, but never sees the crying boy again. He grows old and one day sees the boy again. The boy has wounds on his hands. The giant is upset and he asks what the wounds are from. The boy responds the wounds are from the nails. Love has put them there. Then the giant dies and is happy. To paraphrase.
I was a little shocked when I read this story. And I immediately began quizzing some of the Turkish teachers asking, "Do you understand the reference here? Do you get the meaning?" No one did. It was completely out of their context of experience. When I explained it's reference its direct reference to Jesus Christ, I was met with some shock and horror. "You can't teach that!"
Besides that its a second language, religion isn't taught in schools. I am surprised how unaware people are of other religions. I laughed when I was told I couldn't teach the direct relation to the Bible. One, because I'm not sure how I would. And two, without it - well, it was the entire point of the story. It was the moral. And, how can you explain a story that ends in the garden with a boy who has wounds on his hands and a dead but happy giant?
One response was, "Kids, don't worry about those questions, let's talk about love."
Sunday, June 19, 2011
end of the year
Tolga is currently watching one of my videos. We were required to record one of our lessons and evaluate ourselves. I had put off viewing the video. I'm hearing my own voice in background. It was a rough lesson - it dragged, the students were not with it, and my voice is really really annoying.
Last day of school was on Friday. It was a fairly uneventful day for me. While I see a lot of students, I don't really have the chance to the build the relationship with them as would a teacher who sees the students everyday. In many ways, I'm their fun teacher. In other ways, I have little impact because of my inability to devote necessary time to each student. It's a different experience for me, from being a classroom teacher. It's last days of school, I miss being a classroom teacher. I visited some of the rooms. Many students bring flowers and presents for their teachers. One boy gave me a small bottle of perfume. I yelled at him last week about bus safety and told him I didn't want to be shoveling his bloody corpse off the street just because he wouldn't sit down on the bus.
I must have made an impact.
Many of the classroom teachers received bouquets of flowers. It almost seemed like a competition. (I mean, who doesn't love to get flowers?) However, one teacher gave her bouquets away after the students left. She found the subject teachers that took her class gave each a bouquet, including me.
Big hearts.
Last day of school was on Friday. It was a fairly uneventful day for me. While I see a lot of students, I don't really have the chance to the build the relationship with them as would a teacher who sees the students everyday. In many ways, I'm their fun teacher. In other ways, I have little impact because of my inability to devote necessary time to each student. It's a different experience for me, from being a classroom teacher. It's last days of school, I miss being a classroom teacher. I visited some of the rooms. Many students bring flowers and presents for their teachers. One boy gave me a small bottle of perfume. I yelled at him last week about bus safety and told him I didn't want to be shoveling his bloody corpse off the street just because he wouldn't sit down on the bus.
I must have made an impact.
Many of the classroom teachers received bouquets of flowers. It almost seemed like a competition. (I mean, who doesn't love to get flowers?) However, one teacher gave her bouquets away after the students left. She found the subject teachers that took her class gave each a bouquet, including me.
Big hearts.
Friday, June 17, 2011
to your health
I went to bed with a headache Wed night. I tried to ignore it. I went to bed and woke up in the middle of the night not able to ignore it any longer. My head was pounding. It was nearing a migraine. I took some medicine changed to some new ice packs, and buried my head under the pillows. I slept, but not well. I woke up with my headache. I call it my headache because it becomes this unwanted accessory to my functioning that I couldn't free myself from. I went to work hoping it would just go away, and by the time I got to school I was looking for a dark corner to curl up in.
I don't know why I still went to school. I always think, it will go away. But it didn't. At school, I had a lot of help - I got Tiger Balm for my temples, a massage, and healing hands put on me while I was told to think of the color purple, and later of the color light blue.
It helped. I finished the day, went home, and my headache came back with a vengence. A continuous headache always makes me think of people with chronic pain. It's frightening what control it can have on your life - your thoughts, your decisions, your relationships. During these times I so quickly forget what it was like to pain-free. To be healthy. And I yearn for the hour.
It's finally lifted at the end of the second day, and I am once again reminded to be thankful, always, for our health, for rest, and for peace-of-mind.
I don't know why I still went to school. I always think, it will go away. But it didn't. At school, I had a lot of help - I got Tiger Balm for my temples, a massage, and healing hands put on me while I was told to think of the color purple, and later of the color light blue.
It helped. I finished the day, went home, and my headache came back with a vengence. A continuous headache always makes me think of people with chronic pain. It's frightening what control it can have on your life - your thoughts, your decisions, your relationships. During these times I so quickly forget what it was like to pain-free. To be healthy. And I yearn for the hour.
It's finally lifted at the end of the second day, and I am once again reminded to be thankful, always, for our health, for rest, and for peace-of-mind.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
schedules
It's a curious thing. Can the concept of a schedule be cultural? School starts on this date. Holidays will be on these dates. A field trip is scheduled on that date. The ceremony will start at this time and it will finish at that time. You will be paid on this date. The rules/expectations are such and such. And so on.
When I taught at NYC, everything was in writing. A big black binder we received at the beginning of the year that we signed to say it was received and read. Discipline procedures. Emergency procedures. Salary-steps. Meetings. Overtime. School rules, times, holidays. Most questions were answered. And if they weren't, you had a union rep to ask these questions to. It's kind of a typical picture of American regulation. Slightly over-the-top.
In comparison, Turkey's relaxed. Not scheduled. Slightly unclear. Changing easily.
For example, for a while there, school was going to end last week. Today, on the rare given and translated schedule, there was going to be an event from 10-11:30. I was told in the morning it would start at 9am. When I found my students, they told me they would leave 30 minutes later to the event.
So, I found a chair outside, a sunny spot, and thoroughly enjoyed my latest book.
It's how I've adjusted culturally.
When I taught at NYC, everything was in writing. A big black binder we received at the beginning of the year that we signed to say it was received and read. Discipline procedures. Emergency procedures. Salary-steps. Meetings. Overtime. School rules, times, holidays. Most questions were answered. And if they weren't, you had a union rep to ask these questions to. It's kind of a typical picture of American regulation. Slightly over-the-top.
In comparison, Turkey's relaxed. Not scheduled. Slightly unclear. Changing easily.
For example, for a while there, school was going to end last week. Today, on the rare given and translated schedule, there was going to be an event from 10-11:30. I was told in the morning it would start at 9am. When I found my students, they told me they would leave 30 minutes later to the event.
So, I found a chair outside, a sunny spot, and thoroughly enjoyed my latest book.
It's how I've adjusted culturally.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
missing ingredients
Turkish people like the idea of me making something American. It was suggested that I bring potato salad or banana bread to our pot luck.
Well, I don't know how to make banana bread, never tried. And, there's no Cub Foods here (and they make the best potato salad around).
The problem is, I don't think most Turks like the change of taste. They prefer salty at breakfast (never sweet!), and never mixing of salty and sweet. Tomato paste as a staple seasoning.
Another problem is that I have to find the ingredients for whatever I decide to make - and for all the cheeses they have here, they don't have cheddar.
I decided to make an Orzo dish - it's Mediterranean, so I figured I shouldn't have too much trouble. But, sun dried tomatoes are relatively new here (probably because they are sweet), pine nuts are extremely expensive, and I've never seen radicchio here.
And I forgot the sun-dried tomatoes. Tolga went out to four grocery stores, that weren't close, to get me some sun-dried tomatoes for my potluck dish.
Tolga to the rescue.
Well, I don't know how to make banana bread, never tried. And, there's no Cub Foods here (and they make the best potato salad around).
The problem is, I don't think most Turks like the change of taste. They prefer salty at breakfast (never sweet!), and never mixing of salty and sweet. Tomato paste as a staple seasoning.
Another problem is that I have to find the ingredients for whatever I decide to make - and for all the cheeses they have here, they don't have cheddar.
I decided to make an Orzo dish - it's Mediterranean, so I figured I shouldn't have too much trouble. But, sun dried tomatoes are relatively new here (probably because they are sweet), pine nuts are extremely expensive, and I've never seen radicchio here.
And I forgot the sun-dried tomatoes. Tolga went out to four grocery stores, that weren't close, to get me some sun-dried tomatoes for my potluck dish.
Tolga to the rescue.
Monday, June 13, 2011
take your vitamins
I went for a check-up at the doctor, and the doctor said I needed to go on iron pills. I didn't think much of this because I've always been low. My mother is always low. My grandmother was low. I actually take iron pills when I occasionally remember too. Symptoms of low iron can be tiredness, irritability, headaches . . . but that's me on a normal day.
I offhandedly asked the doctor what my level was -- and I was offhandedly told it was five. As in my grandmother needed a blood transfusion at four. Five! Hemoglobin is supposed to be above thirteen for women. I've always had this theory that I don't need as much iron as everyone else, but five? And I'm functioning? I'm kind of impressed.
I'm going to conclude there must have been something lost in translation here.
I offhandedly asked the doctor what my level was -- and I was offhandedly told it was five. As in my grandmother needed a blood transfusion at four. Five! Hemoglobin is supposed to be above thirteen for women. I've always had this theory that I don't need as much iron as everyone else, but five? And I'm functioning? I'm kind of impressed.
I'm going to conclude there must have been something lost in translation here.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
a use for everything
Baba taped our broken shoe rack. Anne stabilized the bird stand with some more tape. Anne and Baba are resourceful that way. I found a pin stuck in the couch. I pulled it out and put it on the coffee table. I figured Anne stuck it there while she was hemming her pants. Baba sheepishly admitted that he put it there. I shrugged, but later saw he had stuck the same pin in his shirt. I offered to take it, not wanting him to poke himself, but he wanted to keep it. He was using it as a toothpick.
Friday, June 10, 2011
cue applause
I met my date at Panora, a shopping mall on the way home from work. My bus service dropped me off there and my husband was looking as handsome as ever - waiting all smiles. I couldn't help grinning ear-to-ear too.
Last year, during his brother's wedding rehearsal, the bride and groom danced together. Couples were suppose to join them too, and his "abi" was the ceremonial first. Tolga had come late and I saw him when we were being called to the floor - we both just grinned ear-to-ear seeing one another causing our relatives to applaud. It was silly, but the applause seemed fitting.
I was hearing the applause then. Ah. My other part.
We sat an had coffee before going home in order to talk. We didn't talk about much actually. But it was nice to sit with my best friend.
(applause)
Last year, during his brother's wedding rehearsal, the bride and groom danced together. Couples were suppose to join them too, and his "abi" was the ceremonial first. Tolga had come late and I saw him when we were being called to the floor - we both just grinned ear-to-ear seeing one another causing our relatives to applaud. It was silly, but the applause seemed fitting.
I was hearing the applause then. Ah. My other part.
We sat an had coffee before going home in order to talk. We didn't talk about much actually. But it was nice to sit with my best friend.
(applause)
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
pain is pain
I woke up this morning thinking about pain. It was a strange thing to have on my mind.
Pain is humbling.
It's strange to think of pain as humbling. When I imagine pain, I feel mostly fear. When I think of pain, sometimes I feel anger towards our sufferings. But when I experience pain, I can only use the word humbling.
I am humbled by the blessing of health and the mercy of God. It goes against my nature. My nature is to complain about the pain, and say, "Why me?" But incredibly, instead, it is the time I become most aware of my frailty, my weakness, my need for salvation.
The other thing about pain is that it's not really measurable or comparable. I'm not referring to aches, I'm referring to pain that forces you to stop what you're doing. Stop walking. Stop eating. Stop smiling. Bury your head under a pillow. Gasp. Freeze. Whatever you do...
For some people, it takes a lot of pain to bring him or her to this. For others, it doesn't take much. Sometimes, we think of one as "strong" and the latter as "weak", but who is to judge another person's feeling. Pain is pain is pain is pain.
We aren't invincible.
Pain is humbling.
It's strange to think of pain as humbling. When I imagine pain, I feel mostly fear. When I think of pain, sometimes I feel anger towards our sufferings. But when I experience pain, I can only use the word humbling.
I am humbled by the blessing of health and the mercy of God. It goes against my nature. My nature is to complain about the pain, and say, "Why me?" But incredibly, instead, it is the time I become most aware of my frailty, my weakness, my need for salvation.
The other thing about pain is that it's not really measurable or comparable. I'm not referring to aches, I'm referring to pain that forces you to stop what you're doing. Stop walking. Stop eating. Stop smiling. Bury your head under a pillow. Gasp. Freeze. Whatever you do...
For some people, it takes a lot of pain to bring him or her to this. For others, it doesn't take much. Sometimes, we think of one as "strong" and the latter as "weak", but who is to judge another person's feeling. Pain is pain is pain is pain.
We aren't invincible.
Monday, June 6, 2011
hastana
People go to the hospital here when they are sick or injured. I'm not sure if there is such a thing as a regular doctor. It is a government hospital and your records are stored according to your national identity card - or kimlik number.
We hobbled up to the emergency room and a security welcomed me and tayze very sweetly. He guided us in, a doctor looked at Anne immediately and sent us up to orthopedic. The doctor looked at her leg, manipulated it some, and asked, "Does it hurt?" while Anne's face was clearly contorted with pain.
They sent her for x-rays and diagnosed her with arthritis.
Anne isn't a very good advocate for herself. I suppose no patient is, but she might be the worst. She thinks her leg pain is from her heart surgery nine months ago, but only vaguely mentioned her heart surgery. They asked her if she had been walking, she said no. Which maybe I just misunderstood. I'm not sure what she mentioned at all.
When the doctor said arthritis, I replied, "but arthritis doesn't happen all-of-the-sudden, does it?" He told me, "This is Turkish culture."
I have been told this by many people, that my Anne's pain is cultural. What a strange (and slightly maddening) thing to say. My Anne and Baba, along with most of Turkey's elderly population believe that a medicine or injection is the equivalent to a cure. So much so that doctors sometimes simply inject vitamin C into an ache or pain. The injection burns, and thus the patient has been treated and assumes he or she will now be better.
I tried to explain again how this just started after her trip here. How we can't walk more than 50 yards and she is crippled with pain, and he nodded a knowing smile. "This is Turkish woman."
So what am I to conclude? Either my Anne's faking it or the Turkish medical system is wretched.
In the meantime, my Anne is "resting" on the couch. She is sitting there - alternating between holding her breath letting out all her wind, periodically grimacing.
We hobbled up to the emergency room and a security welcomed me and tayze very sweetly. He guided us in, a doctor looked at Anne immediately and sent us up to orthopedic. The doctor looked at her leg, manipulated it some, and asked, "Does it hurt?" while Anne's face was clearly contorted with pain.
They sent her for x-rays and diagnosed her with arthritis.
Anne isn't a very good advocate for herself. I suppose no patient is, but she might be the worst. She thinks her leg pain is from her heart surgery nine months ago, but only vaguely mentioned her heart surgery. They asked her if she had been walking, she said no. Which maybe I just misunderstood. I'm not sure what she mentioned at all.
When the doctor said arthritis, I replied, "but arthritis doesn't happen all-of-the-sudden, does it?" He told me, "This is Turkish culture."
I have been told this by many people, that my Anne's pain is cultural. What a strange (and slightly maddening) thing to say. My Anne and Baba, along with most of Turkey's elderly population believe that a medicine or injection is the equivalent to a cure. So much so that doctors sometimes simply inject vitamin C into an ache or pain. The injection burns, and thus the patient has been treated and assumes he or she will now be better.
I tried to explain again how this just started after her trip here. How we can't walk more than 50 yards and she is crippled with pain, and he nodded a knowing smile. "This is Turkish woman."
So what am I to conclude? Either my Anne's faking it or the Turkish medical system is wretched.
In the meantime, my Anne is "resting" on the couch. She is sitting there - alternating between holding her breath letting out all her wind, periodically grimacing.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Walk #3
The day kind of went like this:
8:30 wake up, finish reading my book.
9:30 make breakfast with Anne.
10:30 Anne pushes me to go for a walk with her. I refuse because of her leg. She insists. I relent.
11:00 We take a cab to a beautiful park. We head down some stairs, walk about 50 yards, and Anne starts limping. Drastically.
11:15 We happen to be right in front of a cafe so we sit down for a coffee and a rest.
12:00 We decide to continue our journey back to the street to get a cab.
12:05 I wonder what the emergency number in Turkey is.
12:06 I call Tolga. No answer.
12:07 I call Tolga's work phone. No answer.
12:08 I call my American friend - the walking book of information about what to do for an ambulance, getting her to a government hospital, etc. My friend says she will call me back.
12:09 Anne insists she can walk up the stairs. It's painful to watch her try.
12:10 My friend calls back, and suggests we don't go today, for several reasons, and if I wait until tomorrow, her husband can bring us to a place for better service. She offers to come help us up the stairs.
12:15 Anne's made it up the stairs, one step at a time. Almost falling when she tried to use her bad leg as a lead, not understanding "the limp".
12:30 We make it home. Anne sits down.
1:00 I go to the market.
3:00 I play tavla with Baba. He wins, but complains of a sore shoulder muscle from playing tavla, saying its his rheumatism.
3:45 Baba lays down for a minute, but gets up and asks if I have a blood pressure cuff because he thinks he blood pressure is low. I don't, so he sits at the table with his head down.
4:00 I go for a long walk.
8:30 wake up, finish reading my book.
9:30 make breakfast with Anne.
10:30 Anne pushes me to go for a walk with her. I refuse because of her leg. She insists. I relent.
11:00 We take a cab to a beautiful park. We head down some stairs, walk about 50 yards, and Anne starts limping. Drastically.
11:15 We happen to be right in front of a cafe so we sit down for a coffee and a rest.
12:00 We decide to continue our journey back to the street to get a cab.
12:05 I wonder what the emergency number in Turkey is.
12:06 I call Tolga. No answer.
12:07 I call Tolga's work phone. No answer.
12:08 I call my American friend - the walking book of information about what to do for an ambulance, getting her to a government hospital, etc. My friend says she will call me back.
12:09 Anne insists she can walk up the stairs. It's painful to watch her try.
12:10 My friend calls back, and suggests we don't go today, for several reasons, and if I wait until tomorrow, her husband can bring us to a place for better service. She offers to come help us up the stairs.
12:15 Anne's made it up the stairs, one step at a time. Almost falling when she tried to use her bad leg as a lead, not understanding "the limp".
12:30 We make it home. Anne sits down.
1:00 I go to the market.
3:00 I play tavla with Baba. He wins, but complains of a sore shoulder muscle from playing tavla, saying its his rheumatism.
3:45 Baba lays down for a minute, but gets up and asks if I have a blood pressure cuff because he thinks he blood pressure is low. I don't, so he sits at the table with his head down.
4:00 I go for a long walk.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
house visit
I came home today and Anne got up to greet me. She grunted and groaned and hung onto furniture to drag herself over to me.
"We're going to the hospital?" I said.
"You're tired."
"Anne, you're in pain, we're going."
"Okay, my dear."
And then I took a deep breath and decided to eat first. Anne tried to help me prepare something but her limping and grunting was stressing me out. While we were eating, Baba ordered more tea. Anne grunted and strained to get up.
"I'll get it," I said. It' s the Turkish tradition that the bride serves the family. Tolga's family doesn't really operate this way, thankfully, because I'm usually the last to see a person's tea cup is empty.
"You're tired," Anne said in protest. But she let me retrieve the tea. I did so a little spitefully.
I decided to call my American friend. She teaches with me, but was a nurse practitioner for years. She also happens to be a walking book of information about Turkey. I wanted her to tell me the closest, easiest hospital to get to - and what she thought about the situation.
My friend's mother-in-law happens to be a doctor and she offered to call her husband and they all came over. Her mother-in-law brought a bagful of medicines and some reassurance. Anne had changed clothes into a dress. (My friend told me later that her mother changed clothes too). In the middle of the assessment/conversations, Baba came over with a mischievous grin. He wanted the doctor to look at something for him too. She had him walk across the living room with his eyes closed.
He toddled like an oversized baby.
She then told him to walk normal.
I was shocked to see he could walk normal. Long sure strides. It reminded me of when Tolga would tell the boys to do different "tricks" and they would eagerly comply.
In the end, it was "take two of these and call me in two days if it doesn't improve."
And, in the end, I feel better too.
"We're going to the hospital?" I said.
"You're tired."
"Anne, you're in pain, we're going."
"Okay, my dear."
And then I took a deep breath and decided to eat first. Anne tried to help me prepare something but her limping and grunting was stressing me out. While we were eating, Baba ordered more tea. Anne grunted and strained to get up.
"I'll get it," I said. It' s the Turkish tradition that the bride serves the family. Tolga's family doesn't really operate this way, thankfully, because I'm usually the last to see a person's tea cup is empty.
"You're tired," Anne said in protest. But she let me retrieve the tea. I did so a little spitefully.
I decided to call my American friend. She teaches with me, but was a nurse practitioner for years. She also happens to be a walking book of information about Turkey. I wanted her to tell me the closest, easiest hospital to get to - and what she thought about the situation.
My friend's mother-in-law happens to be a doctor and she offered to call her husband and they all came over. Her mother-in-law brought a bagful of medicines and some reassurance. Anne had changed clothes into a dress. (My friend told me later that her mother changed clothes too). In the middle of the assessment/conversations, Baba came over with a mischievous grin. He wanted the doctor to look at something for him too. She had him walk across the living room with his eyes closed.
He toddled like an oversized baby.
She then told him to walk normal.
I was shocked to see he could walk normal. Long sure strides. It reminded me of when Tolga would tell the boys to do different "tricks" and they would eagerly comply.
In the end, it was "take two of these and call me in two days if it doesn't improve."
And, in the end, I feel better too.
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