Ode to Fall, An Escape from Fear

I have never been a lover of fall. So many people I know choose fall as their favorite season, but I have always had negative associations with it. For me, fall always signified the end of summer, the beginning of work, the coming of winter. Fall made me anxious when I thought about. I think it all goes back to being a student and being anxious about the begining of school. Who would I sit with at the lunch table? Would I be able to handle a heavier course load? Would I be in classes with my friends? Would I have a homecoming date?? I'm not kidding about the homecoming date thing. I would always be really worried about that and even after college, I still carried that subconscious fear with me, though there were no more Homecoming dances to attend.
Even after I started teaching I had a slight dread of fall. Would I like the new teachers on the staff? Would I have the same lunch time as my good friend, Karen? Would my new principal like me? Would my shows be good this year? Would I get along with the new itinerant music teacher? Fall signified returning to a very, very busy and tiring schedule and getting up early again, something I've always hated. Fall marked a significant change and change, for me, is hard and a cause of anxiety.
When I started this blog, I thought it would be a short little blog about how I went from fearing fall to loving it. I thought it would be a blog filled with anecdotes about me asking if they sold Pumpkin Spice lattes at the Ankara Starbucks and attempting my first apple pie. Instead, I sat here drinking my Oregon Chai latte and thinking about the idea of fear and anxiousness and how it prevents us from enjoying so much and moving ahead.
I meant to write a blog on that several weeks ago as a follow-up to my blog on "reinventing oneself." I talked about being in Turkey and having to define myself with new roles and putting away old ideas of who I was. Last year I was not so successful on the "reinvention of Kate," but I said I was determined this year to embrace my new life here and reinvent myself. So, why is is so hard for me to reinvent myself, so hard to change, and welcome new things? Fear, my friends. Fear.
I am, by nature, a worrier-I come by this honestly. I'm the person on the plane saying to my husband, "What was that?? Do you think that was normal?" I'm the person who is worried all day about maybe having left a straightening iron on (thanks, dad-and I don't think that straighteners are the #1 cause of home fires). I'm the person who almost makes herself sick because she's afraid she offended someone accidentally by something she said to them earlier that day. I'm the person who worries about doing a great job, who worries about looking good, who worries about people's perception of her. I'm a worrier through and through and I fear a lot. That's the truth of it. I'm a fearful person.
And it is that fear that prevents me from enjoying new things that come my way (new jobs, new friends, new opportunites). It is fear that prevents me from enjoying and embracing the things that God has in store for me-new things, things out of my comfort zone, unexpected things.
Rather than trying to think of my own profound thing to say on fear, I'll close this out by reminding myself that God says, "Fear not!" He says: For I am the LORD, your God, who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.
Ok, Lord. I'm going to embrace the new things You have for me. And by "embrace" I mean I'm going to hold Your hand tightly and let you lead me forward, despite my fear, despite my worry.
I might even learn to love fall along the way. Having a permanent "Homecoming Date" certainly doesn't hurt:)

Subbing

Hello again, everyone! I've been away for a bit because I couldn't access our blog site. Very frustrating!
While I've been gone, I've been subbing a ton at school. Including me, there are only 2 subs for the whole K-12 school. So, needless to say, I have a lot of work! This is good, but it makes it hard to plan my schedule. Often I don't know what my week will hold. Sometimes I don't find out I'm subbing until the morning of. Last Monday I was still in my pajamas when the school secretary called to see if I could come in. After I hurriedly got dressed, slapped on some make-up, so as not to frighten the students, I learned my lesson and now I get up with Tim and get ready, just in case. It's good for me, either way, to have a schedule.
Subbing has been kind of a love/hate thing for me lately. It's very strange to teach and have your own classroom for 10 years, and then become a sub. When you walk in a teacher's room, you don't really know their expectations, their subjects (I told the Spanish class last week that I only knew 2 Spanish words: hola and Speedy Gonzales), or the students. I find myself frustrated because I often feel like a babysitter and don't feel like I do as good of a job as I would like. The high schoolers are a whole new world to me. I'm an elementary teacher through and through. I understand little kids, I feel comfortable with them, I know how to teach them. With the high school classes, it's hard to quickly gauge a class and figure out who is telling the truth and who is making up "Mr. Such and Such let's us do open book tests." Well, that's a pretty easy one to figure out, but sometimes it's a fine line between being too strict and too nice. You don't want to be unreasonable, but you don't want to be a sucker either.
As with any kind of teaching, there are always funny things the kids say. I used to keep a book of my favorite quotes, but in the last couple years I've stopped doing that. I think I should start again. Here are a couple gems from this last week...

-from a high school student in the cooking class: "Mrs. Redden, this recipe calls for evaporated milk. If it's evaporated, what's the point?"

-from a kindergartner: "You know, I really just don't want to go to school."

-another from a kindergartener who really missed his mom: "I hope the angels don't remind me about my mom while I'm at lunch." My response: "I think the angels will leave you alone while you eat"

-another kindergartner: The teacher was passing out pretzel sticks for snack and this particular child said, "Are these vegetarian?"

-from AP European History: Student 1-"When they talk about how the "Christian Church" was effected in the Reformation, do they mean the Catholic Church? Student 2- "Yeah, the Catholic Church. Isn't that the whole point of the Reformation?"

-an answer from a biology student: The worksheet was fill-in-the blank and said, "When humans sweat, heat causes _______________. The answer was evaporation, but the student wrote sweating.

-one from Tim's class: Tim asked one 6th grader which name he preferred to be called, his official name or his nickname. He said, "Just call me Mr. A." Needless to say, that didn't fly with Mr. Redden.

-a general comment I get: "Oh! You're Mr. Redden's wife." This in itself isn't that funny, but I always want to say, "Haven't you seen the gigantic picture of me that Mr. Redden blew up and put at the front of his room?? You can't miss it!"

Well, I certainly am learning a lot, though. In the past week and a half, I've "taught" Spanish, Biology, Chemistry, Study Skills, kindergarten, art, cooking, and AP European History. I heard today the cooking classes took whole chickens and cut them up, apparently with lots of guts and gore. I'm really thankful I did not have to sub for that class because as I have stated before, I'm already pretty close to becoming a vegetarian, with the exception of cheeseburgers. Who knows what my subbing future holds? I will definitely keep you posted on my adventures (which I'm hoping will take place more in the elementary classroom.)

A Tale of Drums and Canons

Like I said in the previous blog, in Beypazari, we stayed in this beautifully restored, huge Ottoman house. When we got back to our room after a long day climbing hills and shopping, we were exhausted! We fell asleep around 9:30 or 10. Well, I should say Tim fell asleep around that time. I was wide awake due to the hoard of children playing hide and go seek on the street below our windows (and since there was no AC, we had to have all the windows open). This went on until after midnight. The kids here are not back in school, yet, so they were free, apparently, to do whatever they wanted however late they wanted. They were yelling, carrying on, and making me madder by the minute. I finally got to sleep after midnight and was sleeping peacefully until I was woken up by a loud banging sound around 3 or so. Hmmm...it was still dark outside. What in the world was that? My initial reaction was fear because the sound was unknown to me and was occuring in the middle of the night in a town I wasn't familiar with. The sound started getting louder and closer. I then figured out there was a pattern to the sound. It was like a bass drum was playing. My next reaction was to figure out the rhythm this guy was playing. Let's see...the first couple measures were syncopated and the last one was a triplet. Ahhh! Ridiculous that I was doing rhythmic dicatation in my head at 3 in the morning. Who the heck was this guy?? Then I remembered a book I read about different ex-pats experiences in Turkey. I remembered this one lady who had moved to Cappadocia and had gone to the trouble of buying new Ramadan drums for the village. Ah ha! Ramadan drums. That was it!!! Now I remembered. A man goes around the village, beating a huge drum very loudly, in order to wake all the people up before the sun comes up. That way, they can have one more meal before sunrise. Because after sunrise, there's no food or water til the sun goes down! I peaked out the window when he was on our street to see him. He was wearing a big drum over his shoulders on his front, just pounding away. I was pleased to have figured this out, but not so thrilled that he banged for another hour. I finally fell back asleep, only to be awoken by the firing of a canon. Good grief! What in the world!??! Oh, yeah. That was the signal that the sun was officially up. We had heard the same shot the evening before to signal that the sun had gone down.
The next morning and really the whole next day, I was exhasuted. The children, drum, and canon had kept me up, preventing my sleep. But you know what?? I'm really glad we were in Beypazari to experience these cultural traditions. In Ankara, the big city, we sometimes get a watered down version of culture. Often Turkish culture is intermingled with European, modern trends and often we are in engrossed in our own American community. But in the small historic village of Beypazari, the preservation of history and culture is alive and well.
A little addendum... I once heard a story that my husband slept through an entire hurricane. Though I knew he was a pretty heavy sleeper, I thought that was hard to believe. Well, I don't question that story anymore because that boy slept through screaming children, bass drums, and canons without moving a muscle. I guess when we have kids I'll be the one getting up in the middle of the night!

Beypazari II- A Study in Fashion and Feminine Power

Ok, picking up where I left off...

We arrived in the town of Beypazari Sunday afternoon. It just kind of came out of nowhere. The village was hiding inbetween two ridges, nestled there, as it had been for hundreds of years. We parked and started exploring the small town. I quickly realized the cute gold shoes I had on were not practical for navigating the cobblestone streets and steep hills, so the brown Merrell hiking shoes were donned instead. The cobblestones, though not conducive to the cute shoes, were so lovely and made the town look like something out of a Brothers Grimm story. Along these streets were lovely preserved houses in the Ottoman style-white stucco walls with deep brown wooden window and door frames. Many of these houses had window boxes filled with flowers or basil. Some of the houses also had strings of green, red, and orange peppers hanging across their windows and iron rod hand rails. Absolutely gorgeous! I bought some of those peppers and am not sure whether I want Tim to grill them or string them up on our back porch!
Let me add that, as we walked along, all eyes were on us-more so than in Ankara. Ankara is a pretty international city so when a Turk sees a yabanci (foriegner) it's not quite as big of a deal as when you go to a small town. There was no hiding in this town. I'm sure the two yellow-haired yabanci were the talk of the town. The people in this town were more traditional, which meant it was especially hard to blend. More ladies were covered than what we usually see, (except for the other Turkish tourists who were wearing jeans and tight tops). Now, when I say "covered" I don't mean they're dressed in all black, with only their eyes visible. Many times the older women wear brightly colored floral fabrics. They have a huge piece of fabric covering their hair, but not their face. It makes them look more like peasant women, as it is often tied or pinned under their chin. They also wear these strange kind of MC hammer-style pants. They are very, very loose flowy fabric pants that taper at the ankle. These are often worn with socks and plastic slip-on sandles. What I like about these ladies is that they are colorful! They are just walking explosions of color and pattern!
Some of the younger women wear silk head scarfs, in a slightly different style. They also wear long coats that come down to their feet and have long sleeves. The coats are usually khaki or denim. These women don't usually wear the plastic sandles, but a more sturdy shoe, like a boot. I met a woman dressed like this in one of the silver shops. There are tons of silver shops here and they are especially known for their filigree work. We wandered in this lady's shop one evening and before I knew it necklaces and bracelets and earrings were being put on me. I immediately liked this lady because she was a woman shop owner! You don't often see too many of those in the small towns. She had my business immediately, because I wanted to support a fellow female! The phrase "woman power" was going through my head as I silently cheered her on. I broke out my Turkish, which surprised her, her young son, and her friend. They told me my Turkish was good (it's not, but what a confidence boost!). It was really fun trying to communicate with them, especially since I haven't spoken Turkish that much since we went home to the States. Her son was taking English, so Tim and I practiced English with him, which he seemed very amused by. A little later, I finally settled on a beautiful silver flower necklace and a silver bracelet. The price was unbelievably cheap! She packaged it up, while I was trying to talk to her in Turkish. I took the package of jewelry, while vigorously shaking her hand and thanking her. I was so pleased with myself. I heard her laugh and thought she amused by something witty I had said in her language. And then I noticed her grip was still on my hand, a little tighter. I looked down and there was my 50 lira, still in my hand. In all my effort to remember Turkish nouns and verbs, I had never handed over the money. She was laughing because of this and trying to pry it out of my hand. I was kind of embarassed, but then laughed myself.
I never know where my blogs are going to go. This one seems to have been dedicated to women (I write the blog titles after I finish writing them). My original idea was to tell you about Ramadan. Don't worry, though...that's too good of a story to let go. That will be for next time. So, let me try and close this blog out. I think we as westerners try and put all middle easterners in a box. When I say "covered woman" people usually think of one thing-a burka. The fact is that Islam can take many forms, like Christianity can. Some people are more legalistic, some more liberal. Some people wear dull colored head scarves, some wear every color of the rainbow. I realized that as I looked around this small town and saw, even within it, a variety of ways people express themselves and their faith. You really can never lump everyone together. One of the best parts of living in another country is that you have have the time to really learn about and experience a culture. You have the time to visit different parts of the country and see how the people vary. You get more of the whole picture, rather than just a snapshot. And because of that, you're less likely to start "lumping." Instead, you start learning.

A Little R&R in Beypazar

Did you catch that my title rhymed? Just checking to make sure you're paying attention:) Tim and I (especially Tim) were defintely in need of some r&r. We were in need of some time away from school stuff and in need of time together. There hasn't been a whole lot of it lately. School has been all-encompassing and Tim has been working until 8 most nights and working weekends. So we made a decision to go somewhere for Labor Day weekend and Beypazar is where we landed.
I didn't know much about Beypazar, a village about an hour from Ankara, other than it was on the historic silk road and it was famous for silver and carrots. Sounded like my kind of town. We left after church on Sunday. As we headed out of Ankara, I was reminded once again of this stark part of Turkey we live in-the Anatolian Plain. When I'm in the city surrounded by tall buildings and lots of trees and other greenery, I forget what lies outside the city limits. While there are flat parts, there are lots of ridges-not hills, exactly, not mountains. But pretty tall peaks that are gray or brown, occasionally dotted with sparse trees. Tim finds it beautiful in its own way, I find it somewhat frightening (I don't know why-I think it's that you can see for miles and miles without seeing much of anything and there's not much green) and wonder why in the world Ataturk would have picked this part of Turkey to put his new capital in. My mom read this book about Pioneer women once-those brave souls who ventured west in covered wagons with their husbands. They often stopped in some incredibly flat state and set up a home. There was nothing for miles and miles. No people, no towns, just land. A lot of these women eventually went crazy just looking at the vast endless space. For some reason I always think about that as we get out of Ankara. Now, I'm not going to go crazy as we travel in this part of the country, I'm just saying that I have that same feeling-almost overwhelmed by the vastness of nothing. I'm more of a green, rolling hills kind of VA girl. I think there's something promising about a green hill-something lush and life-giving. I'm learning, though, that there is beauty in this landscape, too. It is life-giving too, yielding beautiful fruits and vegetables, hay, animals-all providing for the people who live here.
Interspersed between the browns and grays, though, there were beautiful patchwork fields. Patches of parsley-beautiful, mossy green carpets. There were fields of tomatoes, beautiful Ayas tomatoes, named for this region and known for the sweetness and deliciousness. There were beautiful eggplant, oblong purple gems, and huge glowing orange carrots that would make Peter Rabbit jealous. All of this beautiful produce, after it was picked, was housed in little huts made of corn husks and straw, manned by cheerful, rotund peasant women in flowery headscarfs and little spritely, business-savy children who looked as if they had been in the sun all summer.
There were also golden fields of hay or straw. We couldn't figure out if they were growing it or had covered the fields in this. You know you hear those songs about "golden fields against an azure sky" or "fields of gold," that's excactly what these fields looked like. After the grays and browns and stark peaks, the golden fields were a welcome sight, catching the light and playing against the blue of the sky.
Sometimes we would be coming up upon a hill that looked like it was covered in big, white rocks, only to find they were sheep or goats that were lying very still, just sunning themselves. There were enough to cover a whole hill, from the top, all the way to the bottom, near the road.
Now, let me say that as I was more of the observer during this whole trip since Tim was driving. He couldn't look very carefully at anything but the road. The roads can be really terrible here-tons of huge potholes, road work, and every changing road patterns. Several people have told us that there is money to fix the roads temporarily, but never enough money to fix them for the long-term. The result is that there is always road work. We had to be careful to follow the signs, to make sure we were in the correct lane, since those were always shifting. I'm always glad Tim is the one driving. Strangely enough, he enjoys the driving here. I'm very content to sit in the passenger seat, be the pot-hole lookout, take in the scenery, and contemplate what my next blog entry will be about.
Well, looks like the Bepazar trip will have to be divided into 2 entries as I have gotten carried away with talking about the landscape. I guess I fancy myself the next Willa Cather. So...stay tuned for more on Beypazar-where 2 yabangi (foreigners) get into danger and trouble in a small Turkish town. Ok....not really, but I want you to keep reading:)

Holding it Together

So today's blog will focus on a typical day in the life of Kate Redden as she goes about her business in Turkey. Ok, truthfully this will only cover 1/2 of my day because I'm tired and I'm having trouble typing due to a pinky injury. Here goes anyway...
We start at 7 am. I say goodbye to Tim and am thankful I don't have to make him a lunch. I like the idea of being a good wife and making him a lunch, but hate the actual physical process of the lunch making. It is is my lucky day, as he has leftover Popeye's Chicken from dinner last night (for many of you this will not be a surprise.) This is the same chicken that the Popeye's people forgot to put in our carryout bag last night and we got home to find 3 drinks, 1 side of coleslaw and some mashed potatoes. Though this was 9:30 pm, my chicken-obsessed husband declared,"I didn't pay 21 lira for chicken I don't get to eat. We're going back." So, I mournfully looked down at my own carb-free meal (note: I have not been eating carbs this week and when you haven't been eating carbs and you wait til 9:30 to eat, you get a little crazy) and dutifully hopped in the car to retrieve the lost chicken.
But I digress. So, I sent Tim on his way, after he encouraged me to try and pay the rent on my own today. This may sound like a mundane, easy task. In Turkey it is not. If only it were so easy as clicking a few buttons and paying on-line (it is important to let you know you can't even pay your internet bill on-line, however you can order a Supersize meal from McDonalds on-line and have it arrive by scooter to your door in 20 minutes). I worked up my courage and told Tim I would indeed pay our rent. I was going to be brave. After all, I need to make good on what I said in my blog yesterday:)
So I hopped in a cab and headed to school to pick up our car. I walked onto the base and showed my ID. I'm always very aware that all eyes are on me as I make my grand entrance (please say that with a french accent). Many of those whose eyes are on me are holding M-16's. It's not that I'm scared or anything, it's just weird to be the center of attention like that. I always have a grand fear of doing something stupid in front of a group (I get this from my mother). And let's face it folks, I don't really blend. They will notice. So as all eyes are on me, I start to adjust my shirt and feel a bit of skin. Yikes! I was supposed to feel denim. I subtlely hike my jeans up, while simulatneously realizing that they are a bit loose-a combination of a carb-free eating plan this week and the fact that I have worn them without washing them several time. I realize, at this point, I need to physically kind of hold them up on one side. I also realize I have about 1/2 mile to walk while doing this. I also realize that a formation of about 30-40 soldiers have fallen in behind me, all saying in unison (left, left, left, right, left). Well, they were really saying "sol, sol, sol, sag sol" (excuse the spelling Turkish speakers). They were gaining on me, so I increased my speed, while trying to hold up my pants without anyone behind me noticing. Thankfully, they finally veered off and an I proceeded to the school at the back of the base.
I poked my head in Tim's class to get the keys, headed back to the car and was off on my city adventure. I knew the route had a couple round-abouts and these scare me. I mean just driving in a straight line is complicated here (no one drives straight and there aren't designated lanes). But, I successfully navigated to the bank and parked in an open, gravel parking lot. I crossed the street (nervously and still holding my pants up) and found the unmarked door of the building the bank was in. With a very large wad of American dollars in my wallet (this is how you have to do it), I climbed 4 flights of steps til I reached a dark, sturdy looking door. I rang the buzzer to be let in. I thought I might have to give a password or something (and I didn't know the Turkish word for swordfish). I was granted entrance and the security guard asked what I wanted. I had no earthly idea how to say "I'm here to pay my rent." So I blurted out, "I'm here to pay my rent." Again, all eyes on me- the one with the droopy drawers. The one who took 2 months of Turkish and the result is that I speak Turklish (Turkish and English) with a bit of French, German, pictionary, and charades mixed in. A lady motions me to her window and I hand her the wad of cash and a paper with all the information needed to pay my rent. None of it needs to even be translated. I get a blank stare and a shrug of the shoulders, like "What am I supposed to do." After a colleague came to check into the matter, he too had a furrowed brow. This is a bit strange since Tim has come into pay his rent every month for 2 1/2 years-same account and everything. Anyway, things finally clicked and I tried to reclaim my Turkish language pride by bidding them "Iyi gunler" or "Have a good day."
Back in the car, I tried to backtrack to the school. However, I got caught in the whirlpool of the round-about and missed my turn. Good ole' Kate, though, figured it out and found a shortcut. Not only that, I had successfully paid my rent and my pants never fell down all the way. And on top of it, my jeans were loose! It turned out to be a good day afterall. Sometimes it's the little things that matter most. Now, I think I'll go reward myself with a brownie:)

The Return of Turkey Tales, Purpose, and Inspiration

Merhaba everyone. Hos geldiniz! It's so nice to be back, writing to all of you again. I have missed it! I have vowed that this year I will be better about writing more frequent updates, so that when I finally do write an entry it doesn't take you a year to read it. Editing has never been my forte.
My inspiration for writing again was reignited after seeing Julie/Julia, the movie about Julia Child (who I'm now obsessed with) and a woman who blogs about her experiences as she cooks her way through Julia's book, "Mastering the Art of French Cooking." I have now read Julia Child's biography, "My Life in France," and have ordered "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" and the dvd set of "The French Cook," Julia's cooking show.
Something in me greatly connected with Julia Child as I watched the movie and read about her "life in France." Like me, her husband's government job took her overseas. After the excitement of her new surroundings wore off she wondered, "But what am I going to do?" She found herself in a new country, without a defined role and sense of purpose. After attempts at hatmaking and lessons in bridge, she stumbled upon what would become her life's passion and work...cooking.
When I first got to Turkey and had finished unpacking and had baked all the Snickerdoodles I could bake (and eat), the same question came to me "But what am I going to do?" After all, I couldn't bake any more cookies-my skinny jeans were about burst as it was. So after crying and bemoaning to my husband that "I had nothing to report to him because nothing of significance had happened to me that day," I decided to embark on finding my place and role here in Turkey. Though I did not attempt bridge and hatmaking, I did jump in and try a lot of new things (and have learned for the 100th time that yoga just is not for me, no matter how desperately I want it to be-let's face it folks...I hate being hot because it make me sweat, which means my hands get sweaty, thus causing me to lose traction on my mat and go from a downward dog position to a dog flat on the floor position).
The hard thing was, as it was for Julia, I had always been a person with a schedule, a defined sense of purpose, and a defined job. All the sudden in a new country, it was like I had no idea who I was anymore. Many things that defined me were now gone-my teaching job, my understood role in a professional community and church community, my close friends and family (not gone, but just really far away!), my ability to get around quickly and easily whenever I wanted (since we share a car and driving in Turkey cannot really be defined as "getting around quick or easy), my ability to get a gingerbread latte whenever I wanted (ok, that really didn't define me, BUT I really missed it). And so what happens, when one finds themselves in a situation like this...one must reinvent themself.
"Reinvent"....I love this word. It has been tossed around a lot by people when they are referring to Julia. Do you know that she didn't publish her book til she was in her 50's? She didn't even find cooking until she was in her late 30's. Our lives and situations are always changing. We can either go with it and "reinvent" or fight it.
I spent a lot of last year fighting it. As much as I loved my husband and Turkey, I frequently found myself thinking or saying,"But this isn't how I used to do it." "I just want to do ____ like I did at home" "I don't think I connect with people here." And on and on the list went.
Well, folks, I'm not fighting it this year. I'm embracing. I'm enjoying. I'm reinventing. And I'm attempting Julia's chocolate souffle.