No Ball Will Ever Touch the Floor

Life and its’ curve balls.  Not such a cliche after all.

On the way to the airport after a weekend at my favorite beach in the world, my good friends R and L  and I chatted about life, and systems, and how we can get too wrapped up in things that aren’t that important and that don’t really matter. We discussed how we must step out of what is comfortable and take a look at what we are doing and see what is really happening there. Perspective is not only important, it is crucial.

We often take for granted the lives that we lead. The fact that clean water pours freely from the tap, hot or cold, whenever we want it. The ease in which we have access to food.  The houses we live in. The right to vote.  The safety of our neighborhoods.  The right to have a voice.  The right not to be scared that the government will take a loved one away. And each other.  We take for granted the people in our lives.  Or even if we don’t take them for granted, sometimes we get so wrapped up in everything else, we forget that what is really important are those relationships and bonds that we create and maintain and nurture.  And even if you don’t take that for granted, I think we too often forget how delicate our lives really are, and that we really are just hanging by a thread.

My friend Tracy.  The first kid to approach me in my first scary days at public school back when I was in the 4th grade.

“Hey, I like your jeans.  I have the same pair.  Did you get them at The Bon?”

The first kid to be my friend at my new school.  My high school buddy. Sleepovers. Movies. Boys. Make-up. Parties. The Laguna. Picking rocks and pulling weeds. Shopping. Swimming. Silver purses. Babysitting at Aunt Mary’s.  Walk America. Homecoming. Legos and hockey sticks.  Prom.  Fights.  Christmas Eve gatherings. Bagel dogs.  Ol’ quick finger. College roommates. Costco runs. Dinners when I was stateside. Marriage.  Death.  Babies.  Laughter.  Lots and lots of laughter.

The last time I saw her, this summer, with her two little boys, I thought about how she had so easily slipped into motherhood.  So organized and together, as she always was really. As we sat there and watched our four boys frolic in the golden summer sun, running and screaming through the sprinklers, I thought about what a great mom she is, and how lucky I am to have a friend, a number of friends, whom I have known since  I was a kid.  A relationship so special with a  bond so strong that distance and time and life circumstances and choices cannot break it.

This weekend when I got the e-mail from another beloved childhood friend that Tracy was being flown to  a hospital in Seattle, that bond buried deep inside my cellular make-up welled up and took hold of my heart.  My friend, fighting for her life.  Images, conversations, memories dance across my memory and visit my dreams.

My heart aches for her and her family.  But she is a fierce, strong woman.  I have seen her do what needs to be done to get through difficult times and I know that she is doing the same right now.  She is a worker and a survivor, and she will survive this.

Reading her facebook wall this morning, tears welled in my eyes as I read the numerous messages posted there.  One post in particular captured that intensity that I am failing to relate here, so I will share those words that so concisely describe her spirit:

….ever since I heard what happened I’ve had one image in my mind. It was the 1992 volleyball season at Ki-Be. One of the team rituals for the season was “no ball will ever touch the floor.” Brandon was running you guys through an INTENSE practice. I distinctly remember you Tracy, near the point of exhaustion, absolutely screaming “NO BALL WILL EVER TOUCH THE FLOOR!” and then sprawling after a Brandon spike from the stand. You made the pass. I saw what a fighter you were. I saw your heart and your toughness and your courage. That’s who you are, and you’re going to fight this challenge now…and you’re going to win. You are in my constant prayers.

So, my friend, go to that place that makes you do what you do and pull out of this.  We are all waiting and cheering you on.

Maktub

The last unit we taught in LP Land was titled “beliefs” which took us down the road of urban legends, religion, superstitions and all sorts of scenarios where you must suspend rational thinking and make that leap of faith.  While we were readying the dining room for Ali and Omer’s birthday  back in March , I thought back to the time surrounding the conception of our boys.  Whether you believe in kismet or not, the circumstances around that time were definitely curious, if not just a wee bit spooky.

The curious chain of events that started it was a  gift from Koray.  After seeing the original  necklace in the Museum of Anatolian Civilizations in Ankara, I eyed a replica made by one of my favorite jewelers.  Koray bought it on the spot to commemorate our anniversary.  The Hittite twin goddess necklace came into our lives quite literally just about the same time that Ali and Omer  split from one  zygote into two.

But the split could have also happened on our trip to Nova Scotia.  Just after renting a car and driving with L to their son’s house and being in the country for an hour or two, we were rear ended on the Bedford highway.  Quickly getting out to see the damage, we met the guy who hit us.  He just happened to be a very nice man who also happened to be a neonatologist teaching at the local university.  This didn’t seem like anything at the time since I didn’t know I was pregnant with twins who would arrive a month early, but after spending so much time with our own neonatalogist after the boys were born, the Haligonian car accident took on a new layer of meaning. We also joke about the timing of the hit…maybe it was the impact that split the zygote?

The final curious event was the purchase of a block print we bought at  a studio in Lunenburg.  In this picturesque fishing village  sits a lovely studio overlooking the water that sells Mi’kmaq art.  The piece we bought is titled, “Dancing in the Eye of the Moon” featuring two identical blue whales nestled together in a ying yang, embryo-like formation. We were drawn to it and  bought it almost immediately.

So, there was definitely a lot of “twinny” stuff going on around the time the boys made their first stirrings in the universe.  Whether it means something or not, it is fun to tell the narrative about the beginnings of a fun and wild ride with two sweet little boys.

Lady Birds

I love it when the mind’s eye offers up a gift from the past in the form of an evanescent glimpse into a life gone away forever.  I especially love it when the flash is accompanied by a palpable sensation of the soft feel of summer air fluttering across your body.

Reading and lounging one evening after a long day, a single word transported me back 32 years to my dad’s ranch. It was literally a two second flash, but the sensations were thick and heavy, nesting me into their warm embrace. The bright afternoon sunlight warmed my skin while the gentle summer breeze  gently rustled the vast, emerald green alfalfa field, filling my nose with the sweet scent of rich grass. Upon each plant sat what seemed to be tens of ladybugs, teeming and bustling in their polka-dotted splendor.  Intoxicated by the copious amounts of red that surrounded me, I hurriedly tucked as many creatures as I could into my emptied jam jar.

And poof, it was gone, sucked back into the abyss of the memory but leaving me with a feeling of fleeting –but definite– warmth and joy.

Aunt T

I have been meaning to write about great Aunt T since we lost her, but the spirit didn’t move me until the morning after a recent Skype call  with my mom and aunt.  Reading the obituary they shared with me then told me nothing new, but I was reminded of what a grand lady she was, who loved loved life drinking it to the lees.  She was on this earth for 90 years.

This morning when I woke up, dark and early, memories of her were jumbling around in my head so I hustled downstairs to get the ideas out before the words left me.  I don’t have a lot to say, in fact, I only met Aunt Thelma once, when I was a 2nd grader on a summer road trip from Washington State down to her home in sunny southern California.  I remember distinctly the first time I saw her because she had a wig on.  I think it was red, and I think it was because my mom thought she had red hair when she was a kid, or something like that.  I can’t recall all of the details, but I do remember thinking that this lady was something else.  On that trip we went to her usual haunts: the beach, the thrift shop, the Mexican restaurant she loved, the spot outside some random store to get weeds to feed to her little budgie.  I vividly recall the avocado trees in her yard, a sight I couldn’t quite fathom being a Washingtonian girl who thought avocados came only from the grocery store. I remember mowing her lawn (my idea) using a motor-less lawn mower that she no doubt picked up from a second-hand shop.  And that is it really.  I was young and didn’t know or understand the importance of being around a family matriarch.

Even though I only met her that once, through letters we kept in touch.  I was a sporadic correspondent, but I tried to send her postcards from my travels, mail that was always well-received and reciprocated by letters written on recycled cards and envelopes.  When I say recycled, I don’t mean recycled by the manufacturer.  Aunt T would repurpose cards and envelopes that people had sent her, something I found eccentric in my youth but whimsical and progressive in my adulthood.  In fact, her letters were so unique and original, office mates over the years came to know Aunt T and her self-constructed envelopes stuffed with bits of this and that.  Never once did I receive a letter without a random newspaper clipping or a snipped section from her senior center’s newsletter. She was a character, that is for sure.

So, Aunt T has moved on from this world she loved so much.  She leaves behind many people that love her dearly who were inspired by her fierce spirit.  I will end this post with her obituary.

Godspeed, Aunt T.

“Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some people move our souls to dance. They awaken us to a new understanding with the passing whisper of their wisdom. Some people make the sky more beautiful to gaze upon. They stay in our lives for awhile, leave footprints on our hearts, and we are never, ever the same.”

― Flavia Weedn

 Our beloved aunt, and longtime Santa Maria resident, Thelma Missouri Andersen, born August 16, 1921 passed away peacefully, February 8, 2012 at the age of 90.  Thelma was the daughter Charles B. White, a Santa Maria barber, and Annie R. White, founder of White’s Doll Hospital on W. Fesler.

 After graduation from Santa Maria High School, Thelma went on to become a registered nurse, beginning what would become a lifetime of service to others. She attended nursing school in Texas and was one of the first groups of nurses flown into Boise, Idaho to care for polio patients.  She also cared for TB patients confined to iron lungs. Near the end of her career she provided private nursing for Hollywood celebrities.

She was the widow of Thomas Christian Andersen, of Denmark, and companion to Thomas Dean Phillips of Santa Maria.

Widely known for her humor, optimism, creative artistry, generosity, spontaneity and remarkable spirit, Thelma loved life and thought of it as a perpetual adventure.

One of her favorite past times was attending The Great American Melodrama of Oceano and PCPA productions. At her request there will be no public services. In lieu of flowers please make donations in her name to The Great American Melodrama.

Thelma is survived by her nephew Frank Prince of Gold Beach, OR; niece Jolene and her husband Roger Brown of Benton City, WA; niece Judy and her husband Frank Hugenberger of Lebanon, OR, and niece Janey and husband Rusty Angleton of Santa Maria, CA. She is further survived by numerous great nieces and nephews, as well as many great great nieces and nephews. She is also survived by her dear friend and extended family member Gale McNeely of Santa Maria, CA.

Those who knew and loved her know that Thelma lived by the philosophy that, “life is good and not to worry.”

Kreativ Blogger Award

I have seen this award of sorts passed around the various blogs that I read and recently, I received it myself from a cool, smart and strong lady I met at a  PTC conference in London two summers backs.  It was an “aw shucks” moment to receive it since she said such nice things about me on her blog.  Formerly posted in Uzbekistan, she is now settled into life in Malaysia with her two sons. Her blog is all about life as an expat mom and is an interesting and informative read.

What is the Kreativ Blogger Award you ask?  Well, it is an award that you share with other bloggers who inspire your life and/or writing. If I were really a cool blogger, I would know how to download the graphic that goes with it, but alas, I am not that blogger.  Anyway, once you receive the award, you share seven random things (preferably interesting) about yourself and then you pass the award on to other bloggers as aforementioned.  I feel like I read about a million blogs a day, mostly professional cooking blogs and a couple on how to wrangle small male children, but my favorites are by the people I know. So I will now pass the torch on to the folks whose blogs inspire me.  Since these blogs are mostly personal works and do not seem to be written for larger public consumption, I will mention them briefly here as an homage and let them decide what to do.

RF: The original blog to pique my interest in online writing, written by a special person who has influenced my life in many ways and continues to do so through his blog.

SD:  I love this blog because I get some serious insight into life in places I have never been.  I have followed her from China, to Laos and now to India, with all kinds of interesting pit stops along the way.  We met originally here in Istanbul and both had plans to move on to other countries, teaching and enjoying life.  I met Koray and happily stayed here in Istanbul while she and her husband moved on to other teaching adventures. She is a hoot to follow around the world.

AF: Another blogger that piqued my online writing interest years back, this lady is hilarious, insightful, honest and cuts to the chase, most probably because she is mama to two beautiful children, looks like a million bucks, and still runs like she did when I knew her pre-bebeks. She know resides in Brazil.

MK: The newest addition to the blogs that I follow, this fashionista is currently living in India, where she and her husband recently relocated from Istanbul. Honest and down to earth, this blog also takes me through parts of the world new and exciting.  Nothing like living vicariously through the travels of others.

LD: Last but not least I grant the award to a sassy lady with great energy and humor.  A former Istanbulite like myself, this blogger moved back to the U S of A before heading down under to beautiful, green New Zealand.  Her Kiwi and other adventures are a thrill to follow.

So, now on to me.  Seven random things that most people don’t know about me… here goes…

1.  Loose bread crumbs on the counter makes me want to run screaming. Not a good trait to have in a country where you slice your own bread.

2.  I love lamb fat and Jamie Oliver (well, I am actually a little obsessed with the latter). A side note, if you ever get a chance to eat at one of his restaurants, by all means DO NOT miss this opportunity.  The best food EVER.

3.  Even though just one half a cup over a regular sized can will give me a headache the day after (what is in that stuff?) I continue to drink Efes and even miss it when I am in the US or Canada. Yes, even with all the micro-brews at my fingertips.

4.  Originating from a long bus ride across Honduras, I  invented the “camel technique” when I travel.  It works every time. E-mail me if you are an avid traveler, especially in countries with poor bathroom facilities, and I will give you the low down.

5. I am surprised when people say they like my blog and that they think I can write well.

6.  Even though moms and yoga pants (or house pants as I lovingly refer to them) have been getting a bad rap lately, if I could, I would wear them every day of the week, all day and all night. I am not a big fan of dressing up.

7. Especially in the bleak gray light of March, I have paid exorbitant amounts of money for peanut butter, maple syrup, sweet potatoes and pork products. I have also smuggled parsnips, rhubarb, small decorative pumpkins, blueberries and butternut squash into Turkey. One time I even brought a jar of bacon fat. True story.

Creative Writing

Other than planning and grading, a big part of being a teacher is writing or finding writing models to show students exactly what you want from them.  This is especially important in the EFL context.  For the past seven years, all of my models were of the academic nature so they were quite serious and formal and well, dry.  This year the program I teach is theme based, which means the students do all sorts of writing on all sorts of topics.

For one of my classes the theme has been health. Recently their task was to write a public health announcement  for a made up disease.  Not finding an example that tickled my fancy, I decided to write one.  A little context first: a common issue in this school is exam/grade anxiety, which renders the students crazed during exam times which means they hassle their teachers for exams grades. So I found it highly appropriate to write about this reoccurring issue.  After explaining a few of the vocabulary words, the kids enjoyed it.  I enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoy it too.

Seagull Psychosis

Seagull Psychosis is a highly communicable disease caused by excessive flocking around LP English teachers in order to extrapolate HEP and exam grades.  Tension and shared air between LP English teachers and LP students spreads the disease, rendering the victims unable to cope with daily life. Extreme cases show students not able to form grammatically correct sentences, babbling and drooling.  In dire cases, sufferers will wander the halls aimlessly, knocking their heads into lockers.  Suffers of this disease can also be recognized by a dazed, glossy look in the eye as well as a disinterest in social media and vegetables as well as an increased and excessive consumption of sugary and fatty foods.

Treatment options are available.  If symptoms start, the affected should immediately stop all harassment of and contact with their LP English teacher. Additionally, students should stop thinking about their grades and self-reflect. For those who work hard, thinking about the amount of hard work and effort they have put into their studies will almost instantaneously cure those affected.  For those who have not put in 110% effort, working hard and doing their best will also reverse the disease.

Not only are students affected by the psychosis, teachers also show elevated signs of stress. Ms. F, a new LP teacher was quoted as saying, “I couldn’t believe the way the students would gather around me and bother me for their grades.  After this happened about three times, I noticed that the most aggressive students started to become dazed and confused.  I didn’t understand what was going on. I had never seen such a thing in all my life.”  After the first exams, other LP teachers also noticed this strange and disturbing behavior amongst the students. The teachers quickly reported it to the LP Dean, a Ms. DS. The school doctor was then involved in the case.  “What we have here is a case of high stress and nervousness that has morphed into a highly communicable and dangerous disease.   We are working closely with the school doctor to educate LP students about prevention” stated the concerned high school principle, Mr. KO .

In an interview, the school doctor Dr. Mehmet Sahin advised that “the best thing students can do is to work hard, always do their best and stay far away from their LP English teachers during exam times.  For some reason, the combination of shared air between students and teachers and high stress from grade anxiety causes this dangerous disease. At the moment there are no known cures, but we do know ways to prevent the disease from spreading and those steps should be closely followed.”

If you are feeling any of these symptoms, or if you know a friend who is, please report it to your LP dean or to the school doctor.

“An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.” –Benjamin Franklin

Scarred for life

I started this post back in December, and never got around to posting it. It has snowed here in Istanbul, which means I have had some uninterrupted alone time whilst the turkeys roll around and wrestle outdoors.  Since I started this blog  to document our lives with Ali and Omer, I will post it now even though it is past the season. Enjoy!

Ah, Christmas.  What a great time of year.  And so much more fun  if  you have little ones who believe in Santa.

Christmas in Turkey is satisfyingly  not without the festive spirit.  Santa, aka St. Nicholas, was from a town called Myra located just outside modern day Demre  in the south of Turkey.  So, it is appropriate to see Christmas trees, twinkly lights, and Santa’s mug splashed here and there in commercial areas.  St. Nick’s original locale is far from the winter wonderland we have come to know and love.  His digs are located in a hot, southern Californian-esque terrain that never gets snow and is  a stone’s throw from the Mediterranean. The story is that the jolly, rotund, fur and wool clad Santa is a 1930′s Coca-Cola creation. How the leap was made from warm, sunny orange country to  the chilly north pole remains a mystery to me.

Without a care in the world as to where he came from, Ali and Omer are full on into Santa this year .  There have been copious amounts of questions about how he  gets into our house without the aid of a chimney and how can he really know at all times if they have been naughty or nice.  To ensure that Santa would bring them exactly what they wanted for all of their good behavior, they wrote their own letter to Santa good and early into the Christmas season. Telling the boys I would take the letters to work and send them,  I quickly and carelessly tucked them away for later storage. Weeks of questions  ensued about how the letters get to the north pole (I send them with the regular mail); how long it will take (about a week); how will Santa know what I want for sure (because he will read your letter); etc., and me reassuring them that Santa got the letter without a doubt, don’t worry.  Fast forward to the Friday afternoon before Christmas to me sprawled, slug-like in a post-school, pre-workout  lie down when Ali bursts into my room anxiously yelling, “Mommy, bad news, we forgot to send the letters!” My brain frantically searched for an explanation as I kicked myself for not hiding the letters better.  “Well, I scanned them and then sent the letter in an e-mail.  Santa got them, don’t worry,” I nervously bluffed.  Skeptical, but temporarily satisfied, Ali meandered back downstairs to continue playing with his Legos.    Luckily, I had  a back-up plan.

I figured I needed to bring in the big guns to convince Ali that Santa had received his letter so who better then Santa himself to deliver the message? There is this cool online site where all you do is answer a questionnaire and upload a picture and within minutes you have a personalized video message from the man of the hour. One of the questions they ask is if the video is for a nice or naughty child. Naturally, I ticked “naughty”; I don’t call them the turkeys for just any old reason.  What I didn’t realize was that ticking naughty instead of nice would mean that the child in question would be left off the nice list.  Oops.  I didn’t think there would be a distinction (what was I thinking?). Proud of myself and relieved that I had found a solution to the letter crisis, I called Ali upstairs to watch his video. Full of eager anticipation, Ali watched the video with wonder and excitement gleaming in his eyes. Both to my and Ali’s shock and surprise,  towards the end of the message Santa told him he wasn’t on the nice list just yet. It was like watching the scene from A Christmas Story when Ralphie eagerly anticipates getting back his Christmas essay about the Red Rider bee bee gun he requested and at the bottom the teacher writes, “you’ll shoot your eye out.”  Looking deflated and worried, I realized that this  may have scarred him, and me, for life. Watch it here to see what I mean. Omer was also left off of the nice list, but for some reason, he wasn’t as bothered.

Anyway,when Santa told Ali that he still had time to make the list I saw the blood run back into his face and the light flicker back  into his eyes, so the crisis was averted.  Even though after a Christmas Eve gathering at our home they were amped up and running around before bed like banshees, Santa still pulled through and delivered the goods and it was a joyful and memorable Christmas all around.

Happy Holidays!