A few weeks ago, the ducks were dressed for the pandemic, with white masks stretched adorably, but poignantly, across their bills.

Now however, they have changed into gardening outfits. One carries a tiny rake and bag of leaves, the other a bough of wisteria.

The ducks are moving on, and soon we will be, too.

My pandemic job has been to stay home. While others have been treating the afflicted and providing essential services, I’ve faced the diaphanous challenge of filling long hours at home. It’s been odd and irritating, but I’ve learned to cope–and to change.

My husband and I have been running errands together, something we previously considered inefficient. Every week, we deliver supplies to my mother in her new care center (thankfully, residents are virus-free) north of the city. Then we loop back to our neighborhood grocery store and adjacent bakery, returning home in less than an hour, thanks to incredibly light traffic. I will miss that, but this week, my husband has been busier and I’ve begun venturing out on my own. It feels good.

I take walks with two neighborhood friends several times each week. Like ducks, we proceed in V formation, six feet apart. Each week is both warmer and greener, and that hour or so of activity anchors my day.

As shelter-in-place rules were coming down, an immigrant friend twenty-five years my junior texted, “I can make your grocery shopping for you.” I was touched, but have felt comfortable going to the store. Seven weeks in, I am still exhilarated—penne! paper towels! shower cleaner!—when I find something I didn’t expect. Our food supply chain is amazing!

When our house arrest began, I was due for a haircut, but that appointment was cancelled and I wondered what I was going to do. In my twenties, I used to cut my husband’s hair, and now we’ve decided to be each other’s barbers. We’ve been through two rounds and are still speaking to each other. A subtle blessing, but I’ll be relieved to see my usual stylist, hopefully sometime soon.

I am apparently not alone in enjoying the lack of social pressure. In the New York Times, Larry David commented, “I will say that the lack of invitations, OK, that’s been fantastic.”  A confirmed introvert, I no longer fret that someone hasn’t gotten in touch, or wonder if I’m being remiss in not seeing a particular friend. I don’t feel like a loser on Friday and Saturday nights if I don’t have plans. And the “share the peace” handshake in church, which I’ve never liked, is probably gone forever.

I’m also grateful for gratefulness. The brilliant work of nurses, doctors and other health care workers has been an overdue revelation. And a bright contrast to pandemic wreckage is the Minnesota spring, early this year. It is surely the most colorful and fragrant ever—or am I simply noticing it more fully? Whatever, it fills me with hope.

Inspiration characterizes almost every quiet day. It is a joy to observe the leadership of governors from Washington to California to Ohio. Tim Walz has been calm and competent. And Andrew Cuomo’s hard-hitting, heartfelt updates are a crucial, reassuring part of my day.

I’ve discovered that extra time, even when it’s bundled with boredom, brings forth new ideas. Well-rested, I generate new writing, sketch out future trips, and plan possible home improvements. Like many others, I am trying new recipes (Turkish poğacas recently), and I even started taking an online class: Renaissance Art History!

Every day I check pandemic happenings in other states. How is California doing? What about Louisiana? New Jersey? Reading about acts of selflessness around the nation makes me realize how much we all have in common, and I’m daring to hope we might finally appreciate the role government plays in our quality of life.

As I write this, I look out my window and see folks walking and riding bikes. My neighbor is carrying a leaf bag, just like one of those iron ducks. I’m glad change is coming, but don’t want to forget the subtle blessings this quarantine, these forty or so quiet days, has provided.

For more reading, go to:

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/13/opinion/covid-gratitude.html

The post As the Shutdown Starts to Fade, Recalling its Subtle Blessings appeared first on Sue's Turkish Adventures.

In September I posted a message on the TAAM (Turkish American Association of Minnesota) Facebook page seeking a Turkish speaker for conversation practice. I got several replies. One woman lived an hour north of the Twin Cites. Another was starting a Ph.D. program in political science. The third was a young woman named Delal, who lives in Minneapolis. We agreed to meet.

Delal has been in Minnesota for about a year. She and her husband, Kerem Yucel, a photographer, moved from Turkey because he received an EB-1 visa, one of only ten granted each year to “extra-talented artists.” Delal is also extra-talented. She has published two fantasy/adventure children’s book series that tell of lost islands, ancient societies, and mysteries of the sea.

Delal and Kerem chose Minnesota because her sister and brother in law are Mayo Clinic doctors. Getting used to a new country has been challenging, but Delal’s diverse childhood experiences spent “aboard ships with a monkey and parrot who joined me in Nigeria” have helped.

“We can all get along together,” she told me the first day we met. She was speaking of Turkey, where there is a deep religious divide. I had never heard a Turk express this sentiment, and it made me feel I could and should say this about my own country.

My talented new friend, Delal, is inspiring my Turkish. We recently read this adorable picture book (just about right for my Turkish comprehension), called What Color are Kisses?

Delal is also helping reawaken my curiosity about Turkey. Just the other day, she told me of a “fairy tale village” in eastern Turkey near Elazig, that in the 1920s sheltered Armenian families fleeing the Ottomans. In this village, she said, there is a lake so overgrown with moss that you can walk on its surface. Ancient stairs underneath lead to water, and a snake with horns resides in a nearby well. Thanks to my talented new friend, I’m thinking about a quest to seek out this enchantment!

For more on Delal Arya:

https://delalarya.com

For Beginning Turkish lessons:

https://turkishteatime.com/turkish-lessons/

The post A Turkish Sea Captain’s Daughter and Children’s Book Author is My Neighbor–and a Talented New Friend! appeared first on Sue's Turkish Adventures.

Day Three here. Arrived on Sunday, and within an hour and a half, Sankar and I were at the downstairs neighbors’ apartment for tea. Seme and Pinar are a couple about our age, and had run into Sankar and extended the invitation earlier in the week. Meeting them so soon answers my question about friendliness and helps me feel optimistic about life here.

My first day was full of confusion as I unpacked, bought a few groceries, and got to know our new apartment. We are up on a hill surrounded by trees including cypresses and magnolias; I want to learn the names of others, as well as those of our bird neighbors, including one that has a white chevron on each of its wings.

Inside the apartment, it seems like every building material is unusual. Our kitchen is sleek and white, with diminutive appliances that communicate using icons, their temperature settings displayed in Celsius. The windows are German and take on interesting positions: you can get them to lean toward you, open at the top. Floors look like oak but are actually made from some high-tech compound, not unattractive. Landed and cellular telephones as well as an intercom system all make strange sounds and I am learning to distinguish one from the other.

Ventured down the hill to the Bosphorus on Tuesday morning. A shady, cobbled road and then 110 steps to the shore. Walked south to Arnavutkoy, a charming village crowded with wooden Ottoman houses and a surfeit of fish restaurants. Then turned around and headed north into downtown Bebek, where I bought a chocolate croissant at a bakery called “Paul.”

As I walked, I noticed what people were wearing. I saw men in dress shirts and slacks, men in sport shirts and shorts, and from a distance two men that appeared to have been bathing in the Bosphorus. One was old, pale and hefty—and naked except for wet, white underpants.

The women were interesting. I passed perhaps four with skirts down to their feet and long-ish headscarves, their faces uncovered. A woman jogging with a male friend wore black running capris and a yellow T shirt. An older woman with dyed blond hair walked by sporting a low-cut pink T shirt and dark shorts. A young woman in a green striped mini dress spoke on a cell phone. An elderly woman was dressed just like my mother: a loose button-down top and polyester slacks.

I didn’t feel conspicuous, but with my knee-length navy shorts and short-sleeved T shirt, I wondered where I fit along this continuum, or more likely, dichotomy. Alongside the mini-dressed girl, I suppose. The concept of modesty, something I believe is relative and situational rather than absolute, seems to be a women’s issue here, associated with political party membership as well as theological conviction, and also, perhaps, beliefs about the feminine ideal. I will continue to write about this fascinating topic.

In the late morning, a climb back up to a quiet apartment and an afternoon nap to try and shake jet lag. I am finding much-needed continuity in following the World Cup matches, but feel the need for bravery as I face many quiet days before my plans and ideas kick in and before any friendships are made.

Thanks for reading this.

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