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One of my most favorite restaurants in Turkey was a little local place right up the street from our apartment. When we first moved to Turkey they were just a little hole in the wall kind of place that had about 7 tables. 7 plastic tables with plastic chairs. By the time we left, almost 7 years later, things had changed. They had expanded to be quite large, had nice booths and tables, and were very popular! They made home-cooked kind of food. A dish called manti was their specialty and so they were called Manti Evi or Manti house. Manti is basically a dumpling or kind of ravioli with a meat and spice mixture tucked inside the dough. It is served with garlic yogurt and red pepper paste on top. Delicious!

Several years ago I went to the Manti Evi to learn how to make Manti. I had grand plans to make it in the states when I came here for a visit. It is quite tedious and I am quite lazy so those plans never did come to fruition. (And besides once I got to America there was Pappadeaux’s to consume. I must admit the manti making took a backseat to stuffing my face with Cajun cuisine.)

Several weeks ago, before our friends came to the states for their visit, they visited the Manti Evi and took this video.

And today we sat down and made some manti ourselves.

It was still quite tedious, and nobody really ended up with a Turkish sized serving of manti, but we did it!

My taste buds and tummy had a party today. I love it when they do that!

“I think I’m going out of my brain

I got it so bad for little Miss Lois Lane

Lois Lane please put me in your plan

Yeah, Lois Lane you don’t need no super man

Come on downtown and stay with me tonight

I got a pocket full of kryptonite”

While listening to my ipod yesterday I came across this song.  OH how I smiled…

One of these days I will  have so much more to say here.  So much more.  For now the thoughts swim around…desperate to get out, but I dare not let them.  Not yet.

I was talking to a friend on the phone this morning.  We talked for hours.  I explained that there is this part of my life…this major piece of who I am that I have finally launched. 

And I used the analogy of a red launch button.  My whole life I’ve seen the button.  It’s been right there.  For a long time I refused to acknowledge it’s existence.  I walked wide circles around the button to avoid it.  But there it was still.  There were several steps necessary for the button to even work.  Two power switches had to be flipped.  A key had to be inserted and turned to the on position.  And finally a plastic cover with a full on warning of the eminent danger of what pressing the button would mean had to be lifted.  When I finally worked up the nerve I really looked at the button.  Saw what it would take to press it.  That was satisfying enough.  I fingered the switches until one day I got curious and flipped switch number one.  Wow…that felt interesting and a tad scary.  Switch number two was easy to flip, but then I ran like hell.  I was terrified at what I might do next.  And besides I didn’t have the key to insert to turn the thing on anyway.  Until one day…look…a key.  Wow.  A totally unexpected key.  And of course I took advantage of that key.  Inserted it and turned it on.  I fingered the plastic cover.  I even opened it and fingered the red button.  I opened and closed that cover countless times.  Then one day…one fine day I couldn’t say no to that red button anymore.  I had to press it.  I had to take the chance at what would happen.  Face the danger head on.  

That is where I am.  The button has been pressed.  There is no turning back.  There has been no explosion yet, but it is coming.  I feel it.  Things will be destroyed.  I am prepared for that.  The amazing thing is that new life will grow from the destruction.  And there will be surprises mixed in.  Things that I had no idea could survive such a devastating blast will survive.  I am hopeful for those surprises and that new life.

One morning when I awoke very early, I saw my mother walking up the hill to the barn. Mist hung about the ground, finches were singing in the oak tree beside the house, and there was my mother, her pregnant belly sticking out in front of her. She was strolling up the hill, swinging her arms and singing:

Oh, don’t fall in love with a sailor boy, a sailor boy, a sailor boy— Oh, don’t fall in love with a sailor boy, ‘Cause he’ll take your heart to sea—

As she approached the corner of the barn where the sugar maple stands, she plucked a few blackberries from a stray bush and popped them into her mouth. She looked all around her—back at the house, across the fields, and up into the canopy of branches overhead. She took several quick steps up to the trunk of the maple, threw her arms around it, and kissed that tree soundly.

Later that day I examined this tree trunk. I tried to wrap my arms about it, but the trunk was much bigger than it had seemed from my window. I looked up at where her mouth must have touched that trunk. I probably imagined this, but I thought I could detect a small dark stain, as from a blackberry kiss.

I put my ear against the trunk and listened. I faced that tree squarely and kissed it firmly. To this day, I can smell the smell of the bark—a sweet, woody smell—and feel the ridges in the bark, and that distinctive taste on my lips.

In my mini journal, I confessed that I had since kissed all different kinds of trees, and each family of trees—oaks, maples, elms, birches—had a special flavor all its own. Mixed in with each tree’s own taste was the slightest taste of blackberries, and why this was so, I could not explain.

From Walk Two Moons by Sharon Creech.

Have I mentioned how much I love children’s literature? I have. Ok then…carry on.

I’ve been trying to come up with something to put here. Something that doesn’t have to do with work. (Oh, and speaking of work…I now have business cards. Real, official ones that my manager ordered for me. Like with the company logo and MY NAME on them! I’ve never had business cards with my name on them! I look so important now!)

The other day a girl at work (Despite the use of the word “work” this is not a work story. It just happened to take place there. Sorry to all of you who had to go get your reading glasses to even be able to tell that these were actual words and not a faint green line in the middle of a sentence. I just wanted to make sure it was said and since it wasn’t an integral part of the story I thought I should change the font to teeninecy. Is teeninecy a word? And if so how is it spelled exactly?) asked me if I was wearing lavender eyeliner. It was a shade of purple so I said yes. She said she liked it. A couple of days later she asked another girl if she was wearing “Shell eyeshadow by Loreal”? The girl answered, “no, it’s Pale Moon by Estee Lauder.” Now there are two things I find funny about this. First of all I had no idea what the actual shade of my eyeliner was called nor did I know who made it. (Purple Amethyst by Almay…yeah…I looked at it later.) Second, both of these girls could call out shades of eyeshadow and the companies who made them without missing a beat. Wow.

This past week a friend was in the market for a new car. She mentioned that she was looking at Jeep Wranglers. I had to look it up online to be sure what a Jeep Wrangler looked like. I had driven my dad’s Jeep Grand Cherokee so I knew what it looked like, but I really don’t know that much about cars. If I’ve owned it I can pick it out, but other than that I’m lost.

I don’t recognize many major brands. I try on shoes based on how they look and buy them based on how comfortable they are. It doesn’t make a difference to me if they happen to have a fancy name stamped on the inside. I figure most places I go people aren’t going to see the name of the maker of my shoes unless I take them off. I never take my shoes off unless I’m at home where my family could care less who makes my shoes. I’m the same way with purses. Does it have what I am looking for? If so I buy it. If not I don’t. Period. Later when I discover that I bought some fancy brand I’m surprised. I had no idea.

Are we seeing a pattern here? For someone who usually pays close attention to life I find it interesting that I am fairly clueless about those types of things. I am usually a details type person, but for some reason those details just don’t compute.

I sit here and stare at this blank white box. So much is running through my head and heart. The words don’t come easily.

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I feel like I am standing here. I’ve been here for a while now. Probably too long.

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I guess standing isn’t exactly right. I think I’m sitting. It’s pretty here. I can look down each road and marvel at the sites.  I catch glimpses of things unknown and wonder about them.  Music calls to me from some far off place around the bend.  Smells waft down the lane enticing me with their sweet aromas.  It’s nice and cool here in the shade.  So I sit and try to feed myself on things I can’t actually see or taste.  I’m not satisfied, but at least I have the smells and the sounds around me.  I crave them.

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Except sometimes it feels more like this. During rush hour traffic. Horns blaring and exhaust fumes choking the air.

No person is a horn or an exhaust fume. Don’t hear that. It’s the choices. Sometimes they scream out to remind me they are still there. They push and shove each other in their attempts to be noticed. They are tired of waiting. I pet them and talk pretty to calm them down. I promise them that I haven’t forgotten them. That one day very soon they won’t have to wait anymore. They retreat to the hidden corners of my mind satisfied with my love making.

Crossroads. Choices.

I talked to a friend today. She seemed kind of down so I asked her what was wrong. A couple of weeks ago she told me that she was going to hell. I asked her why she thought that, and she admitted that she had recently had an affair. It was nothing more than sex to her. She said she has been disappointed in her husband. That he feels the need to get high before having sex. That his drug use has escalated. They are having some financial problems as well. All of these things caused her to seek some satisfaction in the arms of another. Today she talked about feeling like she was on the precipice of something important. A decision needed to be made. She was treading water and getting tired. Divorce was mentioned. She said she didn’t want to get divorced, but she wasn’t sure what she wanted. I had no idea what to say to her. All I could do was listen. Thankfully I am a good listener. Hopefully a listening ear was enough for today.

I’ve been thinking about starting this blog for several weeks now. I already have a blog. Some of you may know it. But I feel somewhat stifled in what I can say there.  In who I can be.  In who I am.  So now I am here.  I will continue to write there, because it is expected of me.  And because, honestly, I love that place.  But now this will be my home away from home.  The place where I can say whatever I want.  The place my family and some of my friends won’t know about.  My vacation hideaway.  You are welcome to join me.  Because really…what’s a vacation without friends?