Stain-glass Eyes

Typical cart men push up and down the streets of Istanbul It's nice to have all the windows open, listening to the birds making their sounds.  The cars increasing their buzz on Yogurtcu Parki Caddesi.  When I look down and across my three-directional-view from up here, I see a man pushing a cart (not using his voice to echo up through the neighborhood, yet), someone walking in the park, and the tops of the trees below me, swaying in the morning wind.  There's a huge gray and black raven sitting on the railing of my large veranda.  Most of the sky is coated with some white, mostly gray, clouds moving slowly from the north east. I'm thinking about life, and how to hold onto my positive attitude in order to keep myself enjoying this already beautiful day.  This is all I have, and it's mine to take and capture.  I'm working on how to push down the aching pain I'm giving some space to. (I don't really have a choice)  I'm going to name my pain,

I spent most of the day resting, trying to heal and medicate my aches and pains.  I know when they keep me up at night, I'm in trouble.  With 64 Turkish students, I need my patience.  Put that amount of students with the ingredient "rich",  and I REALLY need my patience.  I have to make sure I don't feed into their learned behavior. It takes a poker face and an enormous amount of patience.  They want attention for negative behavior and I won't give it to them (at least not in the way they choose).  It's affective, it just takes diligence and a mouth full of teeth to clench when you really want to scream. At about three o'clock I decided I better get outside while it's nice to get some exercise and fresh air.  (there was a nice ocean breeze today) I started out slowly to let my body continue to rest even though I was trekking up hills, stairs and cobblestone streets.  I didn't even carry a purse today.  I have a spring coat that has zippered pocket

Crouched down, My words hide in fear. Their attention is to silence. Stillness keeps them safe from exposure. I harbor them. I know where they hide. I feel their heart beating and I trust they know how to be quiet. I keep my back to the door and push against it, closing them in. "Loyal and protective, I am!", I tell myself proudly. Pride does not make a good guard. I use my power to cover their eyes. But, then, I'm the one who sees. When I hide them from natural light, I'm the one who is blinded. I know I need to put down my clipboard.  Rethink my obsession of checking the rules and regulations. (all written by me) If I let my words escape, I also will be free. Yes. Sadness, truth, and despair cost me. The price I will have to pay to leave my command post. Instead of a cell it will be a home. From a cowering of words without a voice, to having a name. I will trust and honor them with an open door. If they

The more time I spend with Mom the more I get to know and love her as a woman and a mom.  I've never had any doubt to her momness.  Being a mom myself helps me to see a deeper facet of our relationship, too.  It's a powerful link. Being away, in Istanbul has made me realize the warmth I'm missing.  I talk to her on Skype.  I know she reads my blog. We e-mail. It's certainly not even close to being close.  I miss being able to call and say, "I'm coming up, what do you want me to bring to help with dinner?"  Or close enough to say, "Want to come down for a few days?"   I miss her.  I miss the tradition of being together on Mother's Day. When I'm with her we talk, walk, read and watch old movies together.  We enjoy some Bailey's Irish Creme now and then.  We both like decaff. coffee after dinner or hot tea with milk. We look for sea-glass, rocks and driftwood together.  I love to watch her set the table as we're get

I hopped off my bus from Eyuboglu early today on the way home.  I had to go to the bank in Kadikoy to pick up my Turkish debit/credit card.  I had to walk quicky because the bank closed at 4:30 and I wasn't able to get off my bus until 4:05.  Winding through some short-cuts and the beginning of the rush-hour crowds, I was able to walk in the door at 4:20.  Fortunately someone spoke enough English at the entrance desk to get me a ticket (number 1972) and directed me to the next floor to get some help. I was worried I would have to come back another day if the clock got to 4:30 and my ticket number didn't come up. (who knows about these things? Turkey is know for it's infamous waiting lines)  But after about 20 minutes I was seen and taken care of.  One lady with a fancy blazer kept pacing in front of me and looking at me (of course I avoided eye-contact), like she was going to go ahead of me.  But, I knew her number was after mine.  What I wasn't sure of was whe

Reflection can be hard.  When new wounds appear and we haven't even adjusted to the scars from the old ones, it is hard to be optimistic.  When I feel the old healing places fester it gets in the way of thinking how to cope with the new.  It's a tangle.  Solutions aren't easy, if even possible to solve. When I empathize with someone who is lost, lonely, hurt and suffering, my scars feel heavier and more noticeable to me.  When I hug someone and say, "Hang in there," my eyes become the video rewinding of my own past traumas, hurts and losses.  It may sound egotistic, but it's normal.  We relate to the world around us from our own experiences and memories. Even when I'm just a casual on-looker and see someone comforting another, I can't help but feel my scars itch and crack a bit.   I've tried avoiding. I try being aloof, checking my cell-phone, look in my purse, but my efforts don't help much.  I can't NOT feel.  I'd be a fool if

Today and yesterday I stayed late at school.  I still take a little school bus but it leaves at 6 p.m.  At this time of the day Istanbul traffic is awful…..so it takes an hour to get home.  I try to make the most of it by noticing new things or listening to people.  Sometimes I even get in a conversation with a student that loves to speak English (and loves the adult attention).  Kids don't apologize like adults do about not knowing a lot of English.  And I feel like I don't have to apologize to them, either.  They are okay with it and just keep talking, interpreting and teaching me new Turkish words. One day, a week ago, I had to stay late, too.  A little girl about 7,  named Elif,  talked to me the entire way.  We talked about her pets (she conveniently had pictures of them on her i-phone).  Her pets were two cats, both girls.  She explained in quite a sophisticated tone of voice what cats really are like.  She said dogs could never be like cats.  She gets mad when peop

I have the day off today.  It's a national holiday.            Labour and Solidarity Day Labor and Solidarity Day, observed on May 1, is an official holiday in Turkey. Administration buildings, schools and post offices are usually closed on this day. Labor and Solidarity Day in Turkey is an occasion for some people to demand better conditions for skilled laborers and union workers. Many others use the day to relax and see their friends and relatives. Some people in Turkey participate in demonstrations on Labor and Solidarity Day (taken from Wikipedia) A teacher, on the school bus home yesterday, told me to be careful where I go today because of the holiday.  She said if I didn't understand, I'd see it all on the evening news after the day was over.  Elizabeth warned me too. She said it sometimes gets to the point where the police use tear gas and it's not a good idea to be in Taksim, (not far from where she lives in Cihangir)  I've been on