Being Thomas

Thomas.. Anyone that has visited our home so far would understand why this post is dedicated to him.

Not many people understood why I was living with Thomas.

And one day my cousin, who has just got divorced, opened up to me, saying "you know how I am now, I am exactly like Thomas". Until that day, I didn't hear anyone who was feeling the same way I was for my pink eared wild cat.

..

When I was asked how many pets did I have, I used to answer: "I have a cat.. and there is the cat of my cat(meaning Thomas)". He was so wild that when they moved here in this appartment with me, Thomas did not let me touch him, not even let me get near for at least 8 months . He would hiss.

It was funny, I was feeding him and was yet quite scared of him at nights when I was alone with him. It was a matter of guts to leave the bedroom's door open when I was going to sleep.

I must even confess that there has been times when I was hoping that he would get lost or fall down so that I would get rid of him in a way I wouldn't do anything wrong against him.

Even as a kitten he was fierce (click here to see the video), I was unable to feed him with its kitten bottle, since my hands were scratched so badly, by reflex I wasn't able to hold its tiny body in my hand.

Before we saw him, we heard him. It was the voice of some weeks old kitten. He cried for 2 complete days, constantly. His mother never showed up. He was left to die.

Our siamese cat Chocolate insisted on having the kitten inside, coming and going to the kitchen door to him, begging for something from us. So Thomas was taken in  not only to be cured but was supported because he was the friend of our friend Chocolate, our soulful siamese cat.

Thomas had his name from a swiss journalist I knew, looking exactly like him when he was a litttle kitten. We couldn't warm him up nor heal him despite the efforts of the vet. The thing that saved him has been Chocolate.

So Thom learned everything through Chocolate, and thus he needed so less even nothing from us. So, he was never tamed.

When visitors would come he would get lost. It took him long to show up in my presence even.

In years, he learned to get near. He would meow, restlessly, would yearn for that touch but was terrified by any attempt. 

Thomas has been the perfect picture for me how scary we are when we are scared of nearness and trust and how we would hurt the hands coming to us. How many had I torn till I surrendered in love?

A wise man told me once that trust is a link that has to be started by one taking the risk. So there were times where I took the risk by letting him smell my hands, put my face near to his.

Today Thomas has still his caves at our home, his favorite spots away.

There are mornings where I wake up and find him awake, just some centimeters from my nose, staring at me, probably while I am sleeping.

I love him.

..Missing his glance when I am out. 

Love him even more when in any condition he would run to come to me when he is called or when my chest gets wet from dribbles from his mouth when I cudddle him.

It took long, it took work and unconditional giving for those dribbles of pure trust.

Asking Someone's Daughter for a New Home

H, between all medical struggles with mum, had a merry decision. And very H'ly, she shared equally all the good times and rainbows as the heavy days we went through : I was insisted in being present in her "daughter-asking" ceremony!

As the very famous characther of my blog, she authorised her blurred photos to be here.

In where we live, the still living tradition involves the man that decides to get married with your daughter, to visit your home with his extended family to ask for  your daughter's hand... "by the order of God and by the agreement of the prophet" the famous cue says.

The ceremony involves : turkish coffee serving. By the bride-to-be. Cups of it.  Loads of it.

I enjoyed being a part of my rainbow girl's family on this very special occasion and taking pictures.

My H, she is uniquly able to be the beautiful rainbow even on the most grey days, with her colours, so unique and rich.

Deniz Was Here

The breakfast table was waiting for Deniz.

F and I, cousins, we were introduced to each other only 2 years ago, through our grand-aunt. So bizarre that we never met before although she studied at my brother's school and her sister at mine around same years.

Anyways, lately but still luckily we became friends and "nice surprise cousins" although she lives abroad.

Last year we organised a family gathering at my home, on F's arrival to Istanbul with her new-born Deniz.

And today they were back.

Chocolate and Deniz became very found to each other and D's tiny index finger was touching Chocolate's nostrils iside his ears to which it was ok with even happy of its new friend's existence.

I liked the particular way they were so gentle to each other.

Thomas though, dared to come downstairs only at his nap time, and I had the impression he was watching him over while he was sleeping defenseless.

We had a peaceful rainy day in together.

and were sure to miss this extraordinary kindness and friendship even at the moment of goodbyes.

A Home Was His Dream

We met up.

He called. At the end of a long silence, he did, he called. After I met him by coincidence in the street in Greece with a young girl. After by the same chain of coincidence we returned back in the same bus, me, him and this new girl, it was a week after....

She came up.

She was sparkling.

She .. was amazed. That big smile on her face.. She couldn't eat the fajitas I so studiously prepared for her. She couldn't do much, but told me about last night.

She has liked him for years. She trusted him for months as a buddy. She worked with him in two different companies.

And then last night..

It was hot. It was August.

He was married.

..

He never called her and that shock of seing him with another in Greece.

Photo courtesy of i-gunler.com

So we met up in the January cold.

He was busy with the relocation and settling down after divorce. Messy as usual. This neat figure. He chose the vegetarian restaurant in the Cookie Street Zencefil where we had a nice evening, a good dinner and a sincere chat.

He was the pratogonist I told, like those ones in Hemingway novels: cool, good but unsuffiently heroic, somehow egoist, the other end of interventionist. And I was the narrator. He was just passing by my window .

He frequented many while keeping her wife's abandon secret.

He frequented many and my friend's sparkling eyes must have been among many. Just among others.

And now he was left by one.

His eyes were emptied this time, in the vast plains of not knowing what to do.

..

I listened.

My pratogonist was crawling and trying to find the answers. He was lost.

I asked him to leave the names and the complexity of so many concurrent relationships. I asked him to answer me about what he would like to do.

The surprise of his answer reminded me it was a life and not a novel:

"A home" he said, "I wanted a home, build my own family".

My heart melted, leaving the advocacy of my pure sparkling eyes girl friend  that was betrayed by his absence and his adventure in Greece.

My heart melted.

My hands that moved to hold his, froze on their way. I couldn't get that close to him,

I didn't dare.. to touch the wounded beast.

Auntie's Kitchen Table

Safest, warmest, favorite place on earth at childhood: Auntie's kitchen tables. They lived in several cities, in different homes, but the kitchen tables had the same warmth as her arms and slightly fragrant coat. It always made me happy and safe, there her kitchen table.
I felt the urge to meet together from different cities at auntie's table in Ankara this weekend.

Playing 51(a family classic) as asked.. Laughing, chatting laughing.. forgetting the inevitable anxiety of not having them one day.

Holiday Plans

There they are, making holiday plans, on my bed..
And I can not go anywhere. I have just started a new job and have to stay here.
But..
Just realized that there will be oficially 4 days off each month starting with september till the end of the year.
So I will make mines while, probably, Thomas will be biting my toes gently in the warmth of the same bed and while, probably, they will be exploring the undersea treasures in Kaş. Very probably.

And this is called staying at home. Really.

Even Barbie..

Singing With My Brother

I made a long way to the summerhouse outside the city to visit my parents. My father was happy to see me. He showed me the new terrace, we sat down there outside in our old bamboo bench forgotten in the rain. We chit chat than shared a peaceful moment of silence, staring at the view. I thought of my old days there, my teenage summers, the evening falling with my opera arias in the radio, the breeze from the open balcony, my water colour painting. I tried to avoid looking in the balconies of the neighbours that passed away. I wanted to be there, timeless, with my father. He asked me: " Are you bored?". I said: "No".

Getting ready to drive back, my brother called me saying he wanted to show me something. We went to the car and he played a tune there in silence. Beatiful lyrics and a naive melody, then I heard his voice accompanying the very famous singer, very excited, I turned and asked him whether it was his lyrics. In fact the song was his. I envied him.We had the same faith lately with my brother, work problems and a broken heart. Last time I saw him he was crying all the time.And now, I found him having lost more weight than I had. Every member of the family was critisizing him lately of misbehaving. He has always been less for life, for guarantees, for conventions. But the song was so beautiful..I, who have been among the gang to critisize, melted. Melted in the song. In what he has done of his awful mornings. In what I decided to stop in my life: this pain for two carried by one....From Greece, I was back with cds of Xaris Alexiou, Antonys Remos and Marinella. I was thinking of how it would be hearing them live. This morning, I saw in the newspapers that Xaris Alexiou will join Yeni Turku in their 30th anniersary concert tonight in the openair theater of the city. Well I was more than lucky. My brother had tickets and we were delighted to have back our songs of the 80s, 90s, the ornamented songs of Yeni Turku. At the end of the concert, was my dream come true: Xaris Alexiou on the stage.

I had a priceless day in the time machine.With my brother..

On our way home, I learned that he was working on a screenplay and that the song he composed would be the title song for the movie. I asked the title: "Men Cry As Well"

Happy Father's Day

Since the day, she was born, Rice has been the baby to 4 mothers my mother says... and of a great father.

Happy Father's day to our Rice's father.. The best father that could happen in her life so far.


My father..
He has been like this enormous cargo vessel passing so slowly through my narrow water gaps, in my shallow waters . Having an itinerary previously, a target, not quite understanding that meanwhile he passes through my waters, riping my waters, my life so enormously.
He is this very brave guy, father at the age of 24, sharp then and in love with law and politics.
...
I met this shining father and son in the farmers' market yesterday. I wanted to take a picture but my camera was running out of battery. The son served me with what I bought from there. He was around 10, bashful but happy you could say from his skin, pinkish and small happy blue eyes, a good student, a protective nice family's child, very well-behaved. His father explained that the summer break started and the son came to help him. The father had a proud smile talking about the son with a lacking teeth, his hard thick skin engraved by the days in the sun, working in the sun with a decent life.
I wanted to take a picture of them, the father and the sun smiling under different skins but in harmony. May be I will, next week in the real father's day -not in my mistaken one- and publish it if they allow me to.

When My Brother Cried

When my brother cried
He was 3, I was 5

In the middle of the night

Waken up by my parents' fight

He was horrified

A horizontal 8 his mouth like

So desperate he was

His face red, downwards were his eyes

All I remember

I felt so strong to cover him with my bigger arms

When my brother cried

So helpless

Yesterday night

He was 33 in a dark blue wedding night

I felt the same I realised

I wanted to cover him in my arms

For my heart melted

The same way it was

When he was 3 and I was five

Waken up by his cry

8 June'09, Tarabya

My Grandmother's Treasures-1 Dry Dolma

After days over the very sad wedding event in Mardin, my roots have called me.. so my soul was back with my grandmother and my land.

When father decided to marry my mother, my grandparents had this picture taken and sent to my mother as a first step in their relationship. My mother who knew almost nothing about this town in the south got married and moved down to the frontier of Syria.

So this is my paternal family. Here is my grandmother Hasibe, always that straight and disciplined, always a great cook and always with a spotless clean home that you would liike to stay in as long as your parents would tell you "time to go".

So I decided to cook Hasibe's dry dolma and this time give the recipe here for all my friends that were asking for it lately:
Ingredients:

Onion 1 large, minced

Garlic 3-4 cloves

Rice-1 cup of uncooked rice

Sumac juice -3 table spoons if not found in local specific shops you can boil some sumac to obtain this very dense sauce shown in number 4 in the picture

Tomatoes - Optional- 3 0r 4
Peppers-and not chillies! Optional- 3
Tomato paste -2 tablespoons
Chilli paste- bought from a local shop, if you can not find it not a big deal than alternate for a fresh sweet chilli sauce- 2 tablespoons
Minced Meat -500 gr minced by a cleaver(you can ask your local butcher and he would kindly prepare it for you, if he doesn't never mind you can survive with his cruelty and use the usual modern minced meatinstead)
Sun Dried Peppers and Eggplants - 15 pieces in total - If you can not find dried ones in specific local shops you can use the fresh ones and carve them as shown on the latest picture.
Margarine - 1,5 tablespoons (Hasibe's little secret)
Vegetable oil - 3 to 5 tablespoons
Lamb chops - 4 to 6 pieces - around 400 gr
Parsley - a small bunch
Lemon juice of a small lemon
Salt, Pepper

1- So, these are our folks, sun dried eggplants and peppers. Put them in a boiling water and cook them for 15 minutes.
2- If it is a good season for tomatoes and peppers use them generously and have them minced in the food processor. Ah..my laborious grandmother had to chop everything with a good old knife in the old days..

3- Chop the onions and parsley leaves as well. I prefer these two ingredients chopped with a knife rather than the food processor.

4- Now the filling ingredients come together. Do your best to process with your beautiful hands or a good old spoon, your uncooked rice, minced meat, chopped parsley, tomato and chilli paste, chopped tomatoes and peppers, lemon juice, salt, pepper, the chilli of your choice, vegetable oil, margarine,

5- Never forget : the big elixir is the sumac juice ! But add only 2 spoons for the staffing. The 1 spoon left will be for the sauce.

6- Oil your casseroole and lay your lamb chops at the base to give your stuffed vegetables the goodness of the bones and the meat during the cooking time. The lambchops will taste great after being cooked with vegetables. They all will be happy together trust me
7- Fill your boiled vegetables gently in a way to fill them not completely but leaving 1/3 of the space for the cooked rice in the stuffing. So fill only 2/3rd of them and gently squeeze and place them on top of lamb chops siide by side not to leave any space to open up during cooking
8- Make a sauce with 1 cup of water, half of a table spoon of tomato paste, 1 tablespoon of sumac juice and 2 table spoon of vegetable oil.

9- Cook them covered for 30 minutes. Check the rice before turning down the heat.

10- If you will be patient enough to wait them cool down for some 20 minutes, you may think of Hasibe and her treasures like I most of the time do and share it with your friends, family and neighbours(I never forget them! Especially Filiz, Poyraz, Dunya and Funda)

HAVE A GOOD TIME SHARING!..

And now, for those of you who can never have the hope of having sun dried vegetables and never heard of a dolma in their lives, without really understanding why, mum was so kind to take one more picture of me showing you how to carve an eggplant

I hugged Mother

Dear M;

I hugged mother.. She was chatting there with her friends. I hugged her many times, endlessly. She wasnt surprised although she didnt know what were they for. She must have waited so long for me to go to her. I should have risn my head and look in her eyes, long before.

I took at least 20 photos of her in an hour to keep all her moves. Just as you warned me. To keep them with me.

Thank you for the vision you gave me M(and for emptying the defrost water :)

As for your mother, I've known that she was the luckiest mother. Ok, here you go.. a secret: from the neighbourhood, she was always envied, even been jealous of, having the kids around all the time.

Love,
b

Dear Amy Tan;
Thank you for your Kitchen God's wife book. For triggering my awakening. You are a good writer to me.