May 5th is the traditional day of Hıdrellez here in Turkey.  From the information I have acquired from my highly reliable sources, (that would be the downstairs neighbors) the word Hıdrellez comes from a blending of the names of the angels (some say prophets) Hızır and İlyas.  These two angels supposedly meet up once a year, on May 5th, and on that day, whatever you wish for has the fantastic possibility of coming true.

Part of the celebration involves bonfires made by true, hard-core wish makers. They make these bonfires in neighborhoods all over the country, and after the fire is going, the wish maker has to…drumroll…JUMP over the fire.  Some say he must jump 3 times.  Some say only once is necessary. One lady told me that because she was unable to jump, that just her desire to jump was enough.  Last year, our entire family was called out to see the traditional fire.  The neighborhood boys got a little rowdy and actually burned an armchair. BUT, it was quite entertaining…especially when the pants leg of one teenager caught fire!  And, in order not to waste a good bonfire, the kids brought out hotdogs to roast.

Yesterday, being May 5th, I should have had more foresight.  My children had been outside playing for a couple of hours while I was madly cleaning and packing for our move.  My husband came home and said, “I think the kids are starting a fire.”  WHAT???  I went in search of them and what did I find? The first scene in my eyesight as I rounded the corner was…THE BLOND BOY jumping over the BONFIRE.

As you guessed…the blond boy belongs to me.

Never a day without NEW THINGS!!

Tash

Generally, this is my favorite time of year.  I get all jittery just waiting for the day that I can go to the nursery to choose the lucky plants that will no doubt die a cruel, prolonged death on my balcony.  I get out to the bazaar at least once a week for fresh strawberries and veggies for salads.  I have a plastered on smile, that is real…not botox, on the day that my sandals come out of the closet.  And, I get quite a thrill at line-hanging my laundry on the balcony.

This year will be out last spring, at least for awhile, in this amazing place. My spring is filled with thoughts of finding jobs and housing in America, thinking of ways to help our children assimilate into their “home” culture, selling a house-full of furniture, and, of course, goodbyes.

Our Turkish friends like long goodbyes.  This has always held me in wonder.  I hate goodbyes. I pretend that it isn’t happening, and then just say it once, and move on.  I think, looking back on our life, that I can see how I have even avoided close friends and family when I knew that there was an inevitable goodbye in the future.

The overwhelming response that we received when informing our Turkish friends of our upcoming move, was something like, “Oh!  We must get together A LOT before you go!  We must visit as much as possible before you move!”  We will be moving in one month, and have already started this process of the long goodbye.  Turks love to express that deep emotion that we often force down into our depths.

How will I stand it, you ask?  I am purposing to love every minute of these goodbyes and to treasure them always.  I am determined to have my camera ready, so that I can make scrapbooks for our children, and us, to remember this place that has so shaped our characters and held captive our hearts.

Well, I have gone and gushed all over all of you!  I am sure there will be a few more sugary posts in the near future as my emotions take in the swoops and swirls of this roller coaster ride.  I beg you to ride with me, and help me as I say my long goodbyes, that I might remember always.

Tash

By this point, you might assume I am…delusional…cooky…mad as a hatter.  I might be a raving, maniacal conspiracy theorist that lives in fear of New World Order. Well, some of that is true…I was terrified the night of Y2K.  Nevertheless, I mostly just suffer with cultural confusion!

In Turkey, it is the cultural norm to address people by a familial title, such as aunt, uncle, big brother, or big sister. So, for instance, my children call our downstairs neighbor Nadire Teyze, meaning Aunt Nadire, even though she is obviously NOT our blood relative.  My friend, Gül, I address as Gül Abla, meaning “Sister Gül,” out of respect because she is my elder.  To all of the neighborhood children, I am “Tasha Teyze” or Aunt Tash.

My children have adopted this custom, and since the time we relocated overseas, have called most everyone, be they Turk or be they American, by aunt, uncle, brother and sister titles.  And, in turn, I am so rich in nieces and nephews across the globe that I could be the wife of Midas!  It is sometimes odd, especially at the beginning, to have everyone’s child calling you “Aunt.”  My children were quite confused for a couple of years about their “Aunt Debra,” and how she was their real aunt when others were not real aunts.  We finally got that sorted out over time!

So what do I think?  Even with the confusion, the sense of familiarity, of being more than a casual work or school acquaintance happens to be quite comforting.  I have come to the personal conclusion that being called “Aunt Tash” is a precious and lovely way of blending obvious respect with the intimacy that comes from time well spent together.

And, don’t forget the great thing about nieces and nephews.  You get their hugs, kisses, and charm…AND THEN you send them home to Mom and Dad!

It’s the best of both worlds!

Tash

Recently, my daughter came to me and asked, “Mommy, what does sünnet mean?” Now, we are the Kohlmann family, thus nothing can be done easily, painlessly, emotionlessly, etc. etc.  My reply was, “Well, sünnet is the Turkish word for circumcision.” Annabelle then asked, “What is circumcision?”  I was really hoping that the logical second question would not follow the first!  I was actually shocked that she was still unclear on this issue being that we have attended so many ritual celebrations here.  My reply followed, “Well, remember how we have been to parties for little boys here and they get to wear a fancy outfit and ride around in the cool car?  What they do is perform a minor surgery to remove the top layer of skin on the boys—uh hum–wee wee.”  (This is a universally accepted scientific term.)

Did the issue end here with my daughter having a light-bulb type of expression on her face?  NO.  Remember, we are the Kohlmann family. That child promptly yelled for her twin brother, “Jaaaackk!!!!!!” and went running from the room. Then I hear, “Guess what they’re gonna do to YOU!!!!!???”  After which my son comes running to the kitchen with a pale, even pasty look on his face.  ”Mom!!!!”  I said, “Jack, it’s o.k.  You don’t have to worry, we already had this done to you when you were just born.”  Jack’s reply?  “WHAAATTT????!!!!!” I have never seen such a look of pure, horrified offense on that boy’s face.  After a couple of minutes of explaining that lots of men have had the same procedure, including all of his Turkish friends and Daddy, he put one hand to his forehead as if wiping sweat off of his face, and said, “Whew!!”  Two weeks later, I am still laughing.

“So,” you ask, “what is the tradition there?”  From what I have been able to learn from my friends, the typical Turkish boy is circumcised between the ages of 8 and 12.  It seems that it is not specifically required or commanded in the Koran, but is a general accepted tradition in Muslim countries.  When I first arrived here, I honestly was appalled to hear that it was done at such a late age.  However, after years of observance, I can now objectively look at the benefits that come in this culture.  The boy is treated like a prince for a couple of weeks during the procedure (and usually a numbing agent is used as well as pain meds), and during the celebration time.  And celebrate they do!  Most Turkish families worry about saving for the circumcision party much the same as a wedding.  The immediate family will wear formal attire, hire a photographer, rent a banquet hall, hire a DJ, and cake and drinks.  In our city, often the family will rent a classic, red Cheyy convertible and ride the boy around town, honking the horn with a procession of family following in cars behind. The boy will dress in formal costume, and at the end a ribbon is placed around his neck where all the guests can pin on gold or money.  The family gets a wad of cash, and the boy gets a very important ceremony that ushers his rite of passage into manhood.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not advocating boyhood circumcisions.  I am still thankful that this is over and done with for my son. But, I do wonder at the lack of a “rite of passage” celebration for our boys in American culture.  Robert Lewis speaks out on this topic in his book, “Raising a Modern Day Knight.” So, I have begun to think about how we are going to mark these times in our children’s lives. I would love to hear some feedback on this topic.

I must be done.  Time to tackle the day!

Tash

My husband and I were out and about at the local bazaar when my cell phone chimed.  My friend, a mother of one of the children from Jack and Annabelle’s class, was calling to say that she and another friend wanted to come and visit on Monday.  These two friends were part of a tea group that I joined and wrote about in the post, Introducing the Gün (Goon).  I was thrilled that they would be coming.

So, on Monday, being that it was only a couple of gals coming that I knew well, I stayed in my sweat pants.  I did pick the clothes up off the floor and do the dishes in the sink.  I didn’t stay up all night dusting, cooking, placing flowers on the tables and choosing my attire for the next day, like a good hostess–including these two friends, might have. I made some pasta salad, and a small cake.  I do say SMALL. Miniature.  Teeny.  Paltry.  And I mean, not enough for 6 women.

Ah!  Yes, there you have it!  When I answered the door, I got more than I bargained for–not 2 ladies were standing on the other side, but SIX.  All of my tea group came that day!  Yet, we had a gloriously rich time of laughter, tea, food, tea, chatting, tea, and sharing Avon.  Oh, and tea.  I had to fill them with something!  Now, in our culture, when we “drop by,” (do we “drop by?”) we might stay around 30 minutes. My girlfriends stayed about 4 hours.  Long enough for some coffee after all that tea!

In light of this, I thought I would give some tips for being prepared for that drop in blessing.  I’ll admit, I have not always been able to see it as a “blessing.”  But this is something wonderful I have learned from my host country, and I have picked up some tricks along the way.

1.  Open your door! I have realized over the years that very often when I think it is “not a good time,” I really am not involved in anything that can’t be done later.  Now, those times do occur.  At that point, be gracious and be sure to give a better time and ask them to please come again.

2. “Never apologize!!” Let those words of Julia Child ring in your ears!  If it is messy…if the kids are half naked…if you have nothing but a glass of water to offer…if 3 phones are ringing…it is O.K!!  Do what you can to quickly gain control, and don’t even hesitate to ask for help from your guest.  Especially if it is a long time friend.  Just say, “Oh!  You are just in time!  I really needed some help!”

3.  Keep some tea, coffee, herbal tea bags and so forth on hand. It is my opinion that a conversation opens even greater over coffee!

4.  Rethink the order of your rooms. In 1950’s America, it was very common to have both the “living room,” and the family “den.”  It is still much this way in our host country.  After a couple of years, we adopted this plan, and it has served our family well.  We have a sitting room, where the TV, computer, and kids toys are allowed.  This keeps the kids, and thus the mess, out of the living room.  I focus on keeping this one room presentable.  And, I find that the kids don’t even want to be there…they much prefer the comfy room to hang out!  Of course, this isn’t the only way.  Just find what works for you!

We are by no means the perfect hosts.  I forget to refill tea cups.  I often don’t have food prepared.  I once sent a young man to the hospital after learning too late that he was allergic to chili powder.  BUT…we will keep trying…and I know you will as well.

O.k…I am off to sort my tea bags!

Tash