made it!

waiting in Istanbul

 I was trying to figure out how much my kids slept on the plane (and me) and I think it was about 4 hours in the 24 hour period.  Teoman can be enthusiastically stubborn - in spite of being obviously overtired he wasn't too bad - he was just overly excited about going to "Merica!" 

The toughest part was was customrs/security/passport control in Toronto after a ten hour flight.  We waited in five different lines even though we got fast-tracked in some lines because we had small children, and in another case because it seemed we’d miss our flight.  (Tolga was running ahead while I struggled behind).  It seemed they held the plane for us - the captain announced the delay was due to “slow boarding”.

we travel with superheroes

We arrived and my mother was waiting near baggage claim, my father was still outside - they came in two cars to haul us and our luggage.  (We made it to Ankara airport in one taxi...).  We headed straight over to my sister’s house where we will spend the next few days.  

Travel time reflection:

Woke up: 2am

Left to airport: 3:15am

Ankara Istanbul: 5:45am

Istanbul Toronto: 11:15am

Toronto MSP: 9:45 pm (Ankara time)

MSP Airport: 12:30am

Sherah’s house: 2am

Visit, dinner, bed: 4am  (8pm central)

That’s more than 24 hours people.  
And because we went back eight hours, it's still Thursday...

preying on the weak

Last night came the news of another terror attack - this one at the airport in Istanbul.  The news made me feel sick to my stomach.  We are flying as a family tonight/tomorrow.  We are getting up at 3am, flying out at 6am to Istanbul then Toronto then Minneapolis.

They were in our path.

Then, you start to rationalize your odds and its amazing how far you can take this.  If I were in America I'd be glad it wasn't my country.  But I'm here.  And I'm glad it's not my city, or my street, or at the same time that I was going through there... the danger is getting closer - but even when it's close - I still remove myself from it, it's still hard to believe it's happening here and not just on TV.

My sick feeling stayed with me all day.  Partly from not sleeping enough.  Partly from the news.  Partly from the pigeons on our balcony.  I don't particularly like pigeons, but occasionally they land, build a next and lay some eggs before we notice.  No one in this house has the heart to get rid of the eggs - so our balcony becomes full of poop as the eggs hatch and the chicks grow under the parents wings.

But this is the third or fourth time pigeons have nested and hatched chicks on our balcony and the chicks have all come to the same fate.  A hawk or crow finds their nest and destroys them.  Yesterday the first was killed and the other was injured.  I looked out to check on them because I had noticed the mother was away earlier and the one was a bloody mess onto balcony.  The others' wing was askew and it was trying to get up and move back to its nest.  The parent pigeons were just watching form the railing - maybe ready for the predator to return.

I looked later and the dead chick had been skinned, and a little bit later only some entrails were left, and then nothing.  Meanwhile the injured chick had made it back to the nest and the mother was no top again.  But today it too was killed and slowly stripped down to nothing.

The scavengers preyed on the weak and unprotected.  The cruelty and darkness of this world is everywhere...

baking calm

I was stressed last night so I made this:

It's a strawberry lattice pie

It helped.

on justice

When I was in 7th grade I was pretty self-confident.  Junior High destroyed my self-confidence - but I started off pretty grounded.  I was excited to make new friends.  I kept a "What Would Jesus Do?" self made poster in my locker before it became a thing.  I was first chair in orchestra and didn't even know that was a big deal.  I played all sports year round.  I was ready for the big time.

Even today, I think a big part of middle school is the sense of justice.  Things had to be fair, teachers had to be mature and gracious, peers had to kind, and so on.  I was playing sports after school and I'm not sure which one, but my shorts got stolen out of my locker.  They were Umbros and cool at the time.  Our steel gym lockers were webbed and if you were determined you could stick a finger or a hanger in there and pull the thin shorts out through the webbed steel.

Mine and a few others were stolen one day and for some reason I decided I was going to be all Nancy Drew and figure this case out.  And I did.  I don't really remember how - I just remember asking around and finally getting to the few girls who had stolen the shorts.  I confronted them and they lied, but after some prodding - they confessed.  I'm not sure why - maybe I convinced them I knew, maybe I threatened to tell the principal - anyhow they confessed and promised to return the shorts.  I had an official meeting with the vice principal about the whole business and in the end, I think I was trying to get them out of trouble because they had confessed and said they were sorry.

I remember this story because it wasn't satisfying.  I had found the thieves, got them to confess, maybe they returned the shorts, I had shown the principal what a problem solver I was ... and I felt... I felt...I felt like, so what?  Justice was done - and it wasn't as satisfying as I imagined.  People getting what's coming to them, embarrassing someone for their wrong, simply forcing someone to admit it - well it wasn't my business.  It was my shorts - but I'm not sure it was worth all the drama.

I've been thinking of this story when I think of how the colleague of mine got fired (and of all the other teachers that have been wrongfully fired).  How I want to go in and weed out the confusion and dishonesty and bullying and do something to stand up for what is right.  Something to push this shadow back.

But why? To make it a better place?  Sure.  To help my friends?  Sure.  But I know why I had that empty feeling inside before - justice cannot be the point or driving force.  It's the relationship.  It's not to prove I'm right, you're wrong.  It's not even to "make this a better place" because I'm not sure I care that much.  It's because the people that are causing the pain are in pain too, and that's the real heartbreak.

my dramatic family

Scandinavians are known for their reserved nature.  For their skeptical and cautious opinions.  For their stoicism and self sufficiency and determination - among many other independent and proud traits.  For buckling down, ignoring personal "inconveniences" in order to get a job done.  My family is from a Scandinavian heritage - and these traits and more come out in all of us.

My father's MRI of the brain he described as "awful" and hardly expanded on that.  For my father to call it awful, I knew it was bad.  I asked him why and he said "because the machine is right there in your face."  I knew what he was talking about - but he didn't expand on it or even mention that it was downright terrifying.  Tolga did - he said, "my dad started screaming.  He said later it was like bouncing in his brain."  My father just nodded.  I couldn't help but feeling - you should have screamed too.  But then again, for my him to scream would be heartbreaking too - knowing what it would take for him to scream.

where people invest

It always seems like American's are so rich - and they are in comparison.  But I realize foreigners seem so rich too.

I have students whose families spend 10K on vacations to America, families that spend 10K on education - It's hard to say who has more or which is better - but I'm starting to think the difference is where we invest.

Americans have big houses, cabins, boats, multiple cars, garage sales, and lots of extracurricular activities.

Turks have summer homes, apartments, small cars, priy.vate schools, new things, lots of relatives, gold, and fancy vacations.

As an American I would never consider spending 10K on a vacation.  As a Turk - I would consider the experience it would give my children to see a better life, learn English, and be proud.  As an American I would think about all the other places I could invest that money - or I'd say I can't afford it and it would be true because my money would be tied down in my cars or projects or 401k.

As an American I would consider a visit to Turkey a luxury.  As a Turk I would consider a visit to America (if I were privileged enough to consider) it a necessity.

on giving gifts

Last year on Mother's Day (just like this year, actually) - Tolga got me a beautiful purse and matching pair of shoes.  I didn't really use a purse until then, as my school bag always had to be big or these days - I travel with a diaper bag - but I had bought a simple one in America and started using it more when he got me this purse.  It was leather, hand stitched with silk lining - made in Turkey.  Beautiful and unique.

It made me think of my mom - and so I showed it to her.  In her enthusiasm, she said, "I want one too!"  And Tolga, in his enthusiasm said,
"OK Mom!"
And I thought - ugh.  I knew it cost hundreds of dollars, something I would never buy for myself - and Tolga would buy for anyone whatever they wanted.  Money is not an object for him.  It's really beautiful - and on the very opposite spectrum there's me where money is this huge obstacle.

We brought it up to my mom again - about the purse, and she said she'd be happy with gold earrings (dangly ones) or something to put on the wall.  Quite the wide spectrum of things - her enthusiasm and logic are not so entwined.

When I asked my sister what she wanted, she said, "What would you ask for if you were me?"

We both know the answer - something nice or course.  We are cut from the same cloth, unfortunately.

don't retire, live!

I heard a sermon the other day about God's Kingdom and how there's no retirement for there's no age that God can't still use you.  My parents have embraced this philosophy.  They retired from their careers and moved full time into ministry - an organization that evangelizes and disciples people.  I can't give a whole lot of details because I'm not exactly sure what they do, who their affiliated with, and what exactly it is that is requiring so many meetings, donations, and their time.  (It's particulary hard to talk to my mother about it because she sounds like a commercial).  In the wake of their ministry efforts - in fact - my whole life it seems, they've always been linked to the poor and outcasts - and often they are even taken them into their homes.  They are always busy with their projects.  One was linked to this international movement of praying 24-7, and in the midst of the 24-7 praying - teams are sent out to evangelize.  So in addition to their local ministry, they have linked up with "Love LA" and "Love NY" - a week intensive proselytizing effort - and are currently helping lead "Love the Twin Cities".

However... Pops had to got to the hospital on day two of the event.

My Pops is 72.  He's always had a slew of medical issues: seizures when he was young giving him a 4F classification for the military, splenectomy from a car wreck that killed his father, E.coli, endocarditis, major shoulder reconstruction work that resulted in two subsequent infections, he was born with a bi-cuspid heart that aged and required open-heart surgery sooner than most but was delayed because of complications the doctors at Mayo couldn't resolve.

He is better about going to the doctor these days - and he's been sick with low-grade fevers, some dizziness, acute shoulder pain from passing out a month ago, occasional high fevers with chills - but tests, scans, and grams all revealed nothing.  

And then the other morning - on Tomris's birthday he couldn't get up.  He was at my brother's house, called my brother for help, my brother came down and wasn't responding to his voice.  He was brought to the hospital by ambulance.  His temperature was 103 degrees.  He is still in the hospital getting loads of antibiotics and tests.  He has a heart infection again, he may need heart surgery to clean it out around the heart valve that was replaced 8 years ago.  He has a fractured shoulder and pneumonia.  But they still aren't so sure about everything that's going on - so the tests aren't finished.

He is dreading surgery - it is devastating on the body, especially with his age, and the ever threatening risk of infection has him afraid.  He didn't say he was afraid - but it is fear to me, and understandable.

I spoke to my mom on FaceTime that day.  My mom, in true fashion, couldn't really talk to me but rather showed me the room, held the phone for me to listen in on the doctor's comments as well as help give medical history.  She showed me those who had come from "Love Twin Cities" effort to worship and pray, she showed me the 99 year old sick woman in the room next door.

My mom doesn't really know how to handle these things, and so I just went around the hospital at her hand - as she showed me everything she saw.  The patronizing nurses who talked to him like he was a small child (or elderly dementia patient).  The efficient doctor.  The Love Twin Cities team that seemed to smile too big.  The slightly neurotic leader of the group that made up a song on the spot and sang it to me:

Rachel rachel rachel Rayyyy-chal.  
Come to the hospital Rayy-chel
Come and join us Rayyyy-chel
Oh, you're in Turkey, that's just around the cornnnnner.

together in pictures

say cheese

at the gym's outdoor pool

they were playing "horsies"

eating simit

Tomris turns three

Our tradition when the kids wake up on their birthday is to give them all a present.  We had blown up balloons and put them in the living room.  The kids came in and opened their presents - Tomris got a collector's edition Wonder Woman (that was her Baba), Teoman got Optimus Prime - that transforms from a semi to a robot, and Tuana got a chew toy.

breakfast with heroes

We got dressed and ready for the day - but just before heading out I asked Gokhan to take a family photo since we were all dressed and most likely to forget when we came back.  We both felt so proud taking the photo.  Gokhan took a lot and as we paged through the photos I was slightly horrified at the weird things I was doing with my neck and face and how pudgy we were looking.  Tolga summed up the juxtaposition of our feelings and the reality in the observation that we were "Fat and proud."  We laughed until we cried at our proud fat selves.

still are working on getting a proper family photo...

We went to the mall in the morning as well to continue our tradition of allowing them to pick a toy from the toy store.  They kind of surprised me - they were like toy shopping professionals and three and four years old.  They didn't want everything, but went from toy to toy and picked their toy and walked around, then changed their minds three or four times.  In the end Teoman got a race track and Tomris hot a Barbie and horse.

We drank coffees and ate simit, the kids played Wonder Woman and Optimus Prime.  We went home and opened their new presents, ate lunch and sang Happy Birthday and ate the terrible cake.

I had the sprinkle cake with the jello princess, candles, sparklers, and handed bubbles for Gokhan and Teoman to blow while we sang happy birthday took pictures of the lasting memory.

Tolga commented, "I like your scenario."  And then we couldn't stop laughing at my elaborate "scenario".

on baking a cake

It's harder than I thought.  And I wasn't aiming high.

Tomris wanted a princess cake.  I bought cake mix, someone gave me good ole American pre-made-yellow-dye-5-and-6, sugar-and-palm-oil-based-with-high-fructose-corn-syrup-on-top - vanilla frosting.  I also bought chocolate whipped cream topping because Tomris like the picture with strawberries and INSISTED this was her princess cake.  So I bought a kilo of strawberries as well.  I also have some sprinkles, jello and marshmallows I might add because... why not?  I mean, what is a princess cake anyway - other than everything you shouldn't all mixed together?

The cake stuck to the pan (it always sticks to the pan!) and I peeled off in pieces and glued it together with the frosting.  I have a cake decorator tool - I tested out some designs and it turns out I'm terrible at that as well.  The cake platter, princess on top (stuck inside jello) and sparklers will be used as distraction.

Good thing she's three and we're both not perfectionists.

The Hiding Place - review

I remember my father reading this book to us during family devotions.  I remember only the name and after reading it - one part of the book I remembered - the part were Corrie ten Boom walked naked past her guards with a Bible - and the Bible passed through uncollected.  

Reading it so many years later - so many parts stand out to me in different ways.

The story is a biography of a Dutch Woman who ran the Underground in Holland during World War II.  The story starts when she is 45 years old, just before the war.  Her family is beautiful, sweet, and strong.   They live in Haarlem and Corrie is unmarried, living with her father, three Aunts and sister at "the Bej".  There are flashbacks into her childhood and moments that tell of her wedded siblings, the many foster children they brought into their home, the people her Aunt and mother helped, and their family business as watchmakers.  

And of course, their faith that guides there steps in the good times, and in the horrific times to come.  

What I liked: Her dear sister that thanked God for the fleas, and they learned later it was the fleas that kept the guards out of their barracks and allowed them so much freedom to pray and meet.  Her dear sister saw the future, dreamed of a house - a mansion that came to be - sweet visions.  The fact that she learned many years later that she was only released on a "clerical error" (which makes me wonder what this error exactly was), and a week after her release all women her age were take to the gas chamber.

What I didn't like:"When we've lost a friend, when a dream has failed, when we seem to have nothing left in the world to make life beautiful - that's when God says, you're richer than you think."

I'm not so sure about that line.

Quotes: Other great lines:

"Every experience God gives us, every person He puts in our lives is the perfect preparations for a future that only He can see."

"Will you carry (the traveling case) off the train, Corrie?"

"It's too heavy"

"Yes, and it would be a pretty poor father who would ask his little girl to carry such a load.  It's the same way, Corrie, with knowledge.  Some knowledge is too heavy for children.  When you are older and stronger you can bear it.  For now you must trust me to carry it for you."

(Best sex talk every)

"Our wise Father in heaven knows when we're going to need things, too.  Don't run out ahead of Him, Corrie.  When the time comes that some of us will have to die, you will look into your heart and find the strength you need -- just in time."

"How can we bring anything to God?  What does He care for our little tricks and trinkets?...Dear Jesus, I thank You that we must come with empty hands.  I thank You that You have done all-all-on the cross, and that all we need in life or death is to be sure of this."

"She loved people she saw in the street - and beyond: her love took in the city, the land of Holland, the world.  And so I learned that love is larger than the walls that shut it in."

"There are no 'ifs' in God's world.  And no places that are safer than other places.  The center of His will is our only safety - Oh Corrie, let us pray that we may always know it!" (Betsie's comment after learning Corrie had narrowly missed being killed).

"Love.  How did one show it?  How could God Himself show truth and love at the same time in a world like this?  by dying.  The answer stood out for me sharper and chillier than it ever had before that night: the shape of a Cross etched on the history of the world."  (in a family discussion about lying in order to protect others)

"There has been too little praying here.  The very walls know it.  But where You come, Lord, the spirit of strife cannot exist..."

"And then we would hear the life-giving words passed back along the aisles in French, Polish, Russian, Czech, back into Duthc.  They were little previews of heaven, these evenings beneath the lightbulb."  (worship within the concentration camp barracks)

"...must tell people what we have learned here.  We must tell them that there is no pit so deep that He is not deeper still."

"For there lay Betsie, her eyes closed as if in sleep, her face full and young.  The care lines, the grief lines, the deep hollows of hunger and disease were simply gone.  In front of me was the Betsie of Haarlem, happy and at peace.  Stronger!  Freer!  This was the Betsie of heaven, bursting with joy and health.  Even her hair was graciously in place as if an angel had ministered to her."

"And so I discovered that it is not on our forgiveness any more than on our goodness that the world's healing hinges, but on His.  When He tells us to love our enemies, He gives, along with the common, the love itself."

until we meet again, part 2

I was then stuck in traffic and over a half-hour late for school yesterday.  It didn't really matter as all my obligations were finished.  Yesterday was a half-day - the students would get their report cards, teachers get fired, everyone goes home and seminars start on Monday.

For me, it was my last day - I would not be returning on Monday.  For me it was time to say another goodbye to colleagues for the past six years.  

school logo in the background...see ya!

My school "is one of the better ones" but even so when I gave to the news a few months ago, and slowly to my peers - most reacted with a knowing smile and replied, "good for you!"

Many teachers have used their exit as an opportunity to complain - to say all the things that didn't get a chance (or were fearful) to say. - indeed, I was appealed to "please say something for us!"  Part of me had a lot to say, part of me wasn't sure I had a right to say anything.  I was a bit on the fringe of all the trouble - because of my foreign-ness, because of my program being always separate and independent, because of my maternity leave, because I often wondered if I just wasn't understanding the situation.  Indeed - I always want to find a solution to conflict, to make a place better - but I couldn't discern the truth from all the things I felt or heard this year.  People seemed unhappy, administrators seemed aggressive, people were stressed, nervous, fearful, overworked, used, dishonest ... I could only deal with those directly related to my work, and I always asked questions to try and understand the root of the problem - but my questions got evasive answers.  The consultant I worked with - his answers were even more confusing (and he was eventually fired too - our consultant to the new curriculum).  How I wish I could effect change to the place - but how to explain to an organization that there is a culture of fear in a school when their literature touts the exact opposite.  The message spoken is that we are a team and family, that we practice skills of a good teacher, that performance evaluations are for improvement.  And at times it feels that way - but then the curriculum is forced on the teachers, concerns are ignored, and exam scores have to  be justified by the teachers to the parents and administrators.

It seems all education systems are this way - but in Turkey the logic seems even more glaringly errant and teacher's have less of a voice.  It has been a tough year particular with massive curriculum changes that were against everyone's professional opinion.  Today was the day people were ready to be fired because "you never know" - without warning or reason it seems - other than personal - people are fired.  I never believed this until last year when I witnessed someone whom I'd worked with and loved be fired after 18 years of service.  She was a committed teacher and hard worker - and after that, well its hard to be loyal to a company that holds that type of omnipresent threat over people.  Another from our department was fired today - and everyone sat with long faces depressed and all probably wishing the same thing - I'd quit too if I could.

So while I regret not knowing what to say, not knowing how to offer a solution to this broken problem - I do know how to encourage.  And so, I wrote letters of encouragement and thanks.   To my department, to my principal, to the director of the school, and to Aysegul - the first person to take me in, listen and support me, and encourage me.  (Aysegul called me later bawling her eyes out saying "I love you to canim, I will always be here for you too!)

I made rounds through the elementary school of about 1000 students and 50 or so teachers, through the administrative buildings.  Some were shocked, most asked me "Are you going by your own will?"  I said goodbye to one of my favorite employee - Adnan Bey (Mr. Adnan) - he is the driver for the administration and who brought me on several occasions to the emniyet to have my visa sorted out.  He was always kinds, respectful and gracious - I told him my American colleague and I agreed he was the best person in the school.  His face was shocked and truly looked disappointed when I said I was leaving (I was surprised he hadn't heard, because word gets around here), and his colleagues in the room showed the same disappointment.

I said goodbye to my friends in the department, hugging each one - it was awful and wonderful at once.  Wonderful to have known and worked with such good people - to be able to hope for the future together.  Awful because the English department head already seemed to be iced out from the others, taking the blame for the latest firing of a colleague.

And once again, I ached for that sword of truth.  

until we meet again

Lucas "vlogging" me... he may have been crying too

Tomris had left her purse at the hotel and I decided to run by on my way to school this morning.  The play purse had her favorite toy - Robin - as in Batman's Robin - and I thought I may catch my friend just before they were to leave by a private mini-bus service they had booked to take them to the airport.

Their ride wasn't hard to spot.  It was packed floor to ceiling in the back three rows - including that dog whom I've never actually seen.  I came in the hotel and Enoch was working out the hotel payment with Kristen looking concerned by his side.  I didn't interfere...well not physically...instead I texted them: I'm right behind you. 

Kind of always wanted to do that.  

I retrieved Tomris's purse.  Kristen joked that her friend said she should come to throw water on the vehicle.  I told Kristen I had timed my visit to see them off one last time and throw water at them.  It's a Turkish thing I always see at the bus stations... family's waiting and waving, and then as the bus pulls out they take they splash water on the bus, emptying their bottle in a prayer and blessing for safe travels - that your road will be open and your travels fast and light like water.

"You did?  Did you bring water?  (Me pulling my water bottle out of the car).  She brought water!"  Kristen started to cry.  "You came to throw water after us (bah hoo hoo!)  She came to splash water on us!"  The Turkish porters nodded and smiled in approval.  "So how does this work?" Kristen said pulling out her phone camera and everyone gathering around.  I explained how I must do it while they drove away - and while they had all come out to say goodbye once again, they all eagerly and dutifully clamored back into the van, skipping hugs in their excitement, trying to fit their viewfinders through the tiny spaces between suitcases to capture a final Turkish moment.  I tossed the water at minibus as he pulled away and the porters yelled at me "throw it all ON the car!  ON the car!" and so I chucked the water so that it splashed on the back as they pulled away.  It was kind of awesome.  

those precious to us

those feet

Tuana has started reaching for things this week.  She is now 17 weeks old.  She coos mostly.  Still rarely cries (except for the gas cramps) and this week she's started to reach for things.  She studies her fingers like they don't belong to her.  This morning she stopped nursing to slowly reach for my bracelet with the sweet wonder of babies.  

Tolga is still in the field.  He is in the southeast of Turkey - a dangerous place to work in general and even more so these days.  Unfortunately - his boss doesn't think so and insisted he go because "he went there before".  (Ten years ago).  These days are different though, more tense, and Tolga is always vigilante.  My brother likes to say "you'll be fine" and its always the joke and the challenge among men to push the limits.  But Tolga isn't like that when it comes to work - to be a man to him is to remember your responsibility to your wife and children - and to work and live and make decisions based on this responsibility.  Reason 1024 why I love this man.

a picture from Tolga in the field - southeast Turkey - Elazig

out with the kids

my friend Kristen and her mother

   

Enoch holding Tuana

After school today I brought the kid's to my American friend's hotel.  All five of them were staying at the Hilton in hopes to relax and enjoy their last few days in Turkey.  Instead they were still caught up in the logistics of moving overseas.  The foreign registered car sale had paperwork to be finalized.  They had wine and liquor the movers hadn't packed so they were wrapping to ship back to America.  (They pawned quite a bit of rum off on me).  Their hotel room was an explosion of suitcases and even their dog required paperwork.

I had vaguely intended on joining them for dinner - but I had all three kids with me so I was trying to stay flexible according to how they were doing.  Tuana slept on their bed while we chatted and Tomris and Teoman played with Kristin's teenagers.  Kristin's friends showed up in the lobby downstairs so we moved down their as well.  Their friends were from Texas, had two girls and a boy Teoman's age, and they all liked to drink beer.  I sat for a while - anxious it get onto dinner, looking at the bar menu, cooing to Tuana laying next to me.  The Americans were loud and the kids unruly - I could imagine Tolga or Gokhan with me constantly hounding after the kids to not run around, apologizing to the Turks - but I could only handle so much, and Tuana soon took all my attention.  She was having gas pain and couldn't sleep.  This is a relatively new problem - and aggravated by being outside in a noisy environment.  Teoman ended up sitting and playing iPad with his new buddy and Tomris quite impressively kicking a soccer ball in the hotel lobby to the older girl, while I nursed, burped, strolled, bounced, went upstairs, and kept moving to try and find relief for Tuana.  Tuana eventually slept - I would have tried to escape home fast at this point, but the kids had gone on the backs of the older kids to a nearby restaurant so I joined in.  I ordered food for the kids right away, but no myself because I new Tuana would wake up again.  She did so I changed her, fed her - but those Americans were sooooooo loud.  I was half embarrassed - half shrugging it off because I was inevitably going to be grouped with them anyhow.  

Kristin took Tuana so I could eat.  I hadn't mind not eating, nor had I planned on it - but she, then Enoch took the baby - insisting I sit down at our table of fourteen and enjoy the company.  There was a small strip of grass where the kids were back to playing football.  They closed the evening with a fruit boat which the kids were thoroughly impressed.  

It wasn't exactly quality time - but in fact, Kristin and I had only spent a couple times a year together exactly like this: me distracted by kids, and she distracted by everybody - but it was worth it.

fruit boat on dry ice - or as
Sydney said, "Is that liquid Nitrogen?!"

Texan: "Don't touch it our you'll freeze your giblets!"

success measured in ounces

a successful day

She isn't waking at night - hasn't since about two months old - for she finds her thumbs and soothes herself back to sleep until morning.  I usually wake her up in the morning from a sound sleep.  I feed as soon as I get up at 6am, and then again before I leave at 7:30 - always late out the door around 7:50.  She cluster feeds in the day.   am pumping as much as I can because Tuana is drinking it all and drinking formula when my milk is finished.   On more than one occasion I have forgot something in the morning related to my milk needs: a part, a top, a falange, an extra bottle, a cooler.  I spilled milk twice at school.  I had imagine these last weeks a time where I could have meaningful chats with friends, work on some personal projects, and some goodbyes - but my days are still full.  I do one-on-ones through for the first two hours (even through break time), pump milk and wash the equipment, do more students, eat lunch, more students, pump milk again if I can, then leave early.  I get to leave an hour-and-a-half early on "milk permission" - time given by the government for mothers to go home and feed their baby's.  Milk is the central focus of my day.  

After school I walked down to the the bank with Gokhan to collect my dogum parasi - unemployment for my maternity leave.  We had been submitting the paperwork all along, and I was to pick up the money between specific dates at a specific bank that I had forewarned of my large withdrawal.   Tolga had called the offices on Friday to send the money, I had gone to the bank on Monday to make sure they put the money in the vault for me today, then I had to come after three to pick up the payment.  The bank manager came out to watch the transaction - it was just over three months salary I had stuffed in a large envelope - but it wasn't mine, it was money I had to deliver to another bank and deposit in my school's account.  They had been paying my salary all along - so it was there money.  I was entitled to exactly 122 tl - "milk money" they called it, but it's still unclear what the milk money was to pay for (a pump? a steak? a taxi home to feed the baby?)

getting things done

they match!

Tomris busy playing

I went to work and Tolga took the day off.  He went to the eye doctor for himself and squeezed in a look at Tomris - she has a stye on her eye that won’t go away.  If it doesn’t in a month, the doctor will have to drain it.  Hopefully we won't get to that point.

Tolga also brought Tuana to the clinic.  Their are government clinics within each neighborhood that follow the children, call and remind when shots are due, and write prescriptions for medication refills.  Tuana hadn't been properly registered and we went this time because while her first two months were in a private hospital - the government records didn't show this.  Her third month we went to the clinic in our neighborhood in Kusadasi and that is where we learned there was no record.  So when Tolga went there today it was too fill in the records for Tuana and get her 4 month old shots.  

Gokhan went with Tolga to help.  He comforted Tuana after her shot.  Tolga had asked me if I wanted to be there - of course I did, but instead I was getting updates by phone while working on one-on-one speaking practice with the eighth graders.  I had been given a list of names to work through with other teachers - but the majority had fallen to me because I had no classes - and once I'm given a goal, I can be pretty obsessive about reaching that goal.

Before the evening finished, Tolga and Gokhan hauled the new/used bunkbed back down to Tolga's truck.  Our nanny had found a family who was poor - a mother of five children with the father in prison - and delivered the bed to them.  We all agreed to bring groceries at another time to support the family.  

americans going back to america

When I first moved to New Jersey, I plugged into my community - church, school, volunteerism, neighbors, recreational teams - but it was always with this knowledge that it wasn't my home and I probably wouldn't stay ... I had no family to keep me.  On top of that, the friends I was making were coming and going as well - doing the same work as I with the same relatively short term commitments.

And then I realized at some point that I could live like that year after year and never fully plug in - believing I was about to leave.  But I didn't know my future, and I realized the mistake in thinking like this.  I was already a part of many things, but it was still an important change in my thinking.  Nothing is permanent.  The future isn't known.  Now is the time.

Living here, I see a similar problem.  I am the one staying - but I meet many foreigners that are coming and going - an international community of people here on assignment for two or four years, sometimes less, sometimes more.  I am definitely not plugged into my community like I was in America.  Church is filled with a whole bunch of transients.  Even the minister.

But I still attend the chapel.  Mostly for holidays, barbecues, and movie nights.  Today I went to for a goodbye barbecue/graduation party.  My friend Kristen and her family are from Illinois and have lived here for seven years.  We worked together at my school the first year together.  She quit after a terrible year - she had been an elementary school teacher in the States, but couldn't adjust to the education style.  Kristin and I kept in contact through church, Bible study, and coffee a few times a year.  She had many other roles to fulfill and had since thrived here in Turkey, along with her husband and two children.  I was never quite clear what her husband was doing - he was working in the education system as well, sponsored by a foreign country and trying to instill some Western techniques into teaching institutions.

They also made up the entire worship team at church.  Enoch on piano, their daughter on guitar, their son on drums, and Kristin the chapel assistant running the church from the back row.

For many reasons, they are leaving this year.  We brought gold and pinned it on Sydney, their daughter, as a graduation gift and a Turkish token...literally.  They were here a long time, and had invested in a lot - but now they are going, probably not to come back.

second hand

In general, Turks don't buy second hand.  They find it gross or a sign of poverty - a bit insulting to their pride.

So garage sales, craig's list, and eBay are not a thing.

But, there is an expat community - a crowd of people that come and go from Ankara - mostly embassy and military people.  Their world is a sub-culture onto itself.  They know to plug into each other to get to the things the need and find the comforts they want.  There is an email list for expats and on it those coming and going are usually buying and selling home goods like it's a second business - not necessarily at garage sale prices.

The frenzy is intoxicating and a little sickening.  I see things for sale and get a bit excited (I need that) and feel that pressure that "I have to get that before it's gone."

My friends who've been living here since I was here are moving home.  They will ship a container of goods - but are trying to rids of lots of things as well.  They had a bunk bed - and without even looking at it - I assumed it was good, only a year old hardly used and bought if for $100.

I kind of regret it.

They also started filling my bags with junk, and I thought "Junk! yeah!"  (Since when do I say Yeah junk!?)  She gave us their liquor.  We hardly drink liquor.  She filled my bags.  (They were literally selling bags of junk - fill a bag for ten lire or something).  It was overwhelming to look at and now its overwhelmingly sitting in bags in my kitchen.

Jello, seasonal decorated dish towels, frosting, cake mix and tins, chocolate chips, ice pops, taco seasoning, flour (why? why?)

I gave her 50 more lire for it all - and left with that feeling of what just happened?  And the bunk bed is kind of ugly.

Seriously, I've got stop living like this is some sort of game show where you grab up the items as fast as you can in who-can-get-the-best-deal - because it feels like everyone just loses.

campus

Our school is on the edge of a large university campus.  I drive through the campus everyday to get to the far corner where the kids are tucked away.  The university is a huge wooded area with banks, cafes, stationary and grocery stores - all centrally located and if you can find a parking stop - a good place to stop on the way home.  

I left during our lunch break to run to the bank.  There is a function within the Turkish taxes that pays a portion of my salary while on extended sick or maternity leave.  To receive this pay you must go to a government hospital, or if private - one that works with the social security offices - and the doctors sign papers and the hospital files these with the social security offices.  A month or so later, one can go to a designated bank chain - give your identification number - and collect or unemployment.  My school had continued to pay my salary - requiring that I collect my unemployment from the social security offices and transfer this payment to them.  It's great to continue getting my salary, to not have a gap in a pay and need to wait until the end of my leave to receive the amount - however it adds up to a large amount I am responsible for.  

And they don't make the collecting part easy.

I have to go to the designated bank during the designated time of the month, submit my ID, learn they don't have it, call the social security offices so they will send the money, go back to the bank to tell them when I will pick up the money (because they may not have the cash on hand), and then come that day with my ID number AND my passport.  Collect and sign for the cash.  Deposit the cash in a different bank in my schools account.  Get a receipt for both transactions and deliver it to school.  

It's hard to believe they leave that kind of job in my hands, or anybody's hands - waiting for me to collect and transfer.

I tried today, unsuccessfully.  The bank was on campus, so I drove there with my colleague - I took Michael to help translate any technical difficulties - and a couple times a year - we go there to eat cheap campus food: Chicken roasting on a huge spit, shaved off and rolled into an oily wrap, served with ayran and a waffle as desert.  Waffles are a thing here - they make the waffle and you can a bazillion items to put on your waffle - white, bitter, caramel, strawberry sauces, fruit, nuts, ice cream and more sauces.  But no syrup.  

Where I lived #2

We were rich in the American way - our money spread out in our possessions and our debt.  When I was fifteen, my parents started downsizing.  That's what they called it.   My father hired auctioneers to come out and sell most everything we had in the garage and barns - and it was a lot of tools.  Stuff I didn't really care about, but my brothers seemed to be walking around kind of depressed all day -sickened that a $100 level sold for $15 and amazed that left over display windows from my father's work sold at all.  (They were junk as far as my father was concerned).

We even sold our house.  Unfortunately, a little too early because in ten years time the property price had tripled so that I'm unsure any of us could or would buy it back - like we all said we would.

When our property sold I was fifteen, almost sixteen.  My parents hadn't found new place to buy yet, and so they decided to rent a townhouse in Stillwater.  It was a dramatic change in scenery from country living, fields, and dirt roads to the middle of town - pavement, condominiums and shared spaces.  Our dog couldn't adjust.  She ran away, got lost, and hit by a car before we sent her back to the country to live with my grandmother.

I loved it - I loved anything new.  I loved being able to walk to stores, being so close to school and friends.  I loved having pavement and new places to explore.  I biked everywhere.  I was able to bike to local elementary school for basketball practice with a coach and I had big dreams of playing Varsity.  I loved having neighbors too - even if they weren't my age.  To the one side lived a girl a year or two younger than me - she was drop dead gorgeous - she was already 5' 11", slender, wavy blonde hair and make up to suit a 25 year old model but with the tentative personality of a mouse.  It didn't matter though, most were intimidated by her beauty.  That summer I seemed to home a lot - and she was not, it didn't matter though - her little twin brothers were more my style.  Charlie and Cole were 6 years old, blonde hair and blue eyes and full of mischief.  I babysat them often and played with them most days.  Tony was 12 or 13 and he lived on the other side of us and there may have been one more boy who occasionally joined us.  Tony was the one who got me into roller hockey.  I got a pair of cheap roller blades and a plastic stick so I could keep up with him when we played.I played roller hockey the entire summer with the neighborhood kids and became extremely fit for soccer.

Our row of townhouses was beige with brown trim.  New and clean, two floors built over a garage with the front door off to the left of each town house, repeating a pattern until the end.  In the back of the garage was a door to our windowless kitchen.  I remember the linoleum floors distinctly because I dropped a plate on the floor once and the linoleum broke - not the plate.  The kitchen was single lane of cupboards and an island with a sink that looked over the dining room table.  Rounding the kitchen's corner at the island there was a bathroom, then past the dining room table the room opened up into our living room.  It was strange seeing our old furniture in this new home.  The living room paralleled the garages's length and thus had one large window in the front looking out.  The back of the room had a set of stairs that climbed several steps before taking a ninety degree turn to finish the climb to the top.  The second floor had three bedrooms and I can't remember how many bathrooms.  Sherah and I shared a room again, Aaron and Josh shared the smaller, and my parents had the Master bedroom which I think had a bathroom but I'm not sure.

Seth had moved down to Kansas City at eighteen so he never lived here with us.  We were entering our sophomore year in high school and Josh his senior.  Aaron had a bunk bed in his room - I don't remember when we got bunk beds - but it was hardly used.  Josh moved out at some point and lived with his girlfriend.  Josh always brought the drama into our house and our school.  Living with one in a long string of crazy girlfriends to follow over the next X many years.  "X" still the representing number because he has yet to settle.  Somehow, in his stead, we had his classmate living with us - Wade Hoffman.  Looking back at it now, I guess it was quite strange having Wade live with us, and stranger that I remember very little about it.  (Did he share a room with Aaron?  Weren't my parents nervous about having an 18 year old guy in the house?  What was wrong with his family?)  I suppose in high school we seemed to be in constant motion - busy with school, sports and jobs so that none of us were home much - and living "in town" put us right in the middle of everything.

Son - review

I loved Wrinkle in Time.  I feel like I must be some sort of simple, superficial reader for not being blown away by George Orwell's 1984.  I enjoyed Hunger Games and the Divergent Series - as simple as they're.  (I don't know when the fad of violent action-packed-movie-ready-dystopias became a thing.)  But none of them have been as powerful to me as Lois Lowry's "quartet".   The Giver is the most well-known book, but I have loved the whole series.  I read The Messenger out loud in a car ride back from Kanasas City to my parents maybe ten years ago.  It really moved me and I bawled my eyes out the last couple of pages (with my parents laughing at me - and come to think of it, in-between texting Tolga as well).

I was so excited to find this book in my online library.  I didn't even know this was out - and it indeed is a fairly recent release (2012).  One book doesn't necessarily lead to the next - but they are all intertwined - and Son seems to be a response to the most probable reader uproar that happened at the end of The Giver when everyone was asking what happened to Jonas and the baby.  The answer was given in Gathering Blue and The Messenger sort of - but Son really rounds off the set so perfectly.

The story is broken into three sections - before, in-between, and beyond.
Claire is a Birthmother in the original community that Jonas (the main character in The Giver) was a part of - indeed, we learn a bit later, right at the time he was Selected and subsequently left he community.  It is her job to produce three Products.  The women's diet, exercise and sleep are regulated.  The are inseminated, they are blindfolded when they give birth, and the baby is taken away and brought to the Nurturing Center where they are are raised the first year, and then named and assigned couples.  Everything in this community, as the reader has been familiar with is sterile, without deep emotion.  People in the community actually take pills - a drug that suppresses feelings - and thus most everyone is content with how things are.  During Claire's birth, something goes wrong and she has a C-section (but doesn't understand this), and the baby is well, but Claire cannot continue as a Birthmother - and is reassigned to work in a Fish Hatchery.  Amidst this unexpected failure and reassignment, she isn't re-administerd these pills that keep human emotion at bay and she feels the loss of her child, but cannot identify the feelings other than a yearning to find how he is.  She learns his number, his name, and that he is having problems sleeping at night ... in fact this is the very baby that Jonas takes with him when he escapes the community.

Claire loses her mind upon realizing the baby had "failed to thrive", and then subsequently was kidnapped from the community.  She gets on a boat in attempt to escape and follow Jonas, but the boat shipwrecks into an isolated community on the sea (it reminds of Scotland).  She assimilates to the new community (which is much more like those we know, but primitive) and is introduced to concepts such as colors and things such as animals and birds.  She is taken in by a single, aging mid-wife, and helps her in her tasks.  As her memory returns, she remembers she has a son, and she is determined to escape the community to find him.  It isn't the community holding her back, it's the geography.  The sea is too dangerous and a huge cliff cuts them off from the world.  Claire begins training to scale this wall and escape the community.  It takes her several years of training - being led by a young man who had trained himself but injury had kept him from staying.

Claire does indeed scale the wall (it takes an entire day) and at the top she meets the Trademaster.  A character that was a part of the last book but not quite as sinister as this one - he offered a trade to the young man who had trained Claire - the young man had refused and so he had chopped off his legs.  With Claire, the Trademaster offered to help her find her Son in trade of her youth.  Claire had been instructed not to refuse the trade, whatever it was - and she did not refuse so she joined the community that her son was being raised (now 8 years old), but as an old old woman.

The last part of the book picks of the baby's life - Gabriel - who is now a determined teenager building a boat from a picture in an attempt to search out his past, specifically to find his mother.  In spite of Jonas telling him that parents were assigned, and there was no such thing as love (sort of a amiability), Gabe feels there was indeed someone who loved him.  Gabe has also found he has a gift, much like the characters in the previous books.  Before he is about to leave the community in search, his mother reveals herself - having held back up to this point because she felt she would be interfering on his life, and her old age made her unsuitable as a mother - but feeling her end is near, she shares first with Jonas, and then becomes deathly ill.  Gabe learns his mother's fate and is instructed he must kill the Trademaster who has grown to this embodiment of evil.  Gabe is able to "veer" or experience the actual feelings of other characters.  Gabe is just coming to understand how to control this gift and sets off to face the Trademaster, reminiscent as to how Matthew had to fade in the end of Messenger.

What I liked: The community is brilliant - maybe it was taken from Madeleine L'Engle's Camazotz from A Wrinkle in Time, but I don't care - it had its own feel, and its own beautiful plot.  I liked having the back story filled in.  I liked having three parts to the story - and visiting three parts of the world - each community was well built.  I especially love them being reunited in the end - I need happy endings in books: evil conquered, love reunited - how life should have been.

What I didn't like:  The ending was little bit cheesy.  The end of Messenger may have been too - but its dramatic finish was beautiful.  This ending - where Gabe veers and learns the Trademaster's weakness: his hunger for human suffering - is a bit quaint he is conquered by showing how love has conquered suffering.  I don't think Lois Lowry is a Christian - but her message is - but whereas Matthew's sacrifice was so beautiful symbolic, Gabriel's battle was not subtle at all - and so in turn, kind of boring.

Quotes: "He is Evil ... He tempts.  He taunts.  And he takes."

Lame quotes: "You won't ever know what that's like, to love someone.  In a way, I pity you.  But I hope you starve."

hot item of the week

I started explaining what I've been doing teaching yesterday because when I'm not substituting absent teachers' classes - my speaking classes have become the hot item of the month.  The eighth graders keep asking when I'm coming to their classes.

I'm famous in the middle school hallways, and it feels kind of good.

At least I was famous until I refereed the 8th grade Jeopardy match ... then I kind of lost popularity to "No fair!"  "We were first!" and so on.

My second part of the lesson has to do with what I call "the middle school problem" and what my colleagues call topic development.  Middle schoolers have lots of opinions and want to be seen as adults - but still have trouble developing a a cohesive thought.  I give two more strategies for this.  Don't just say it, prove it! (That really appeals to middle schoolers - I mean who doesn't love to prove themselves right?)  I give them the acronym RAFT from my NY teaching days - Restate the question, Answer the question, For example (give three), and Tie-it-up.  This is not jut an eighth grade speaking strategy this is a strategy I could use even now on a job interview.  It's a stressful event that I'm expected to give great answers - so when I'm asked, "Why did you become an English teacher?" I have have to give a great answer.  I have to because my job outcome depends on it.  Saying "because I love kids" is not enough, its weak and simple.  It's not the impression I want to give.  I became a teacher because I love kids, I love learning, and teaching exercises my creativity ... okay, this is better, but now I have to explain this more with examples to prove it's true, and to show why it's important to my teaching.. and I go into my examples.

When you're given a topic, think of three supporting ideas, or three sub-topics, or three details to add to your comment.  If you don't know what to say - think about who, what, where, when and why.  Think about the sensory details - what does your task look like, sound like, etc.

You have lots to say, so say it - and be smart about it.  The topic is to talk about an endangered species - don't launch into a speech about how we should save panda bears because they are cute.  Give me something meatier.  It will show your intelligence.  For example - what if I were to tell you to argue how we should save rats.  Brainstorm why (I'm writing these down as they call out:)
Because they're cute! (later I cross out because its an opinion)
They're disgusting! (opinion)
They're endangered! (not true)
They are part of the life cycle! (ding ding ding!)
(and a little bit later)
We use them for medical studies! (hooray! -now you are thinking like an adult).

I have had all of these eighth graders as fifth graders, and it is really satisfying to have them now - more mature, better English, and attentive (albeit because of the high stakes test).