"How long more?" My husband asks this question enough times for me to know he's not wondering how long our walk will take to get to the river. We've done it a million times. He's asking me how much longer we’ll be staying here in Turkey, how much longer we have to wait for our lives to move forward, and how much longer will we have to live at the mercy of politicians’ decisions.
Every night during Ramadan (or Ramazan as it's called in Turkey), our town is awakened by the steady beating of a drum. Dressed in traditional Ottoman attire, the drummer weaves his way up and down the neighborhood streets with a stick in one hand and a drum in the other.
There's something about the Advent season that's so cozy to me. Maybe it brings back memories of growing up, arguing across the dinner table over who gets to light the wreath-encircled candles and who gets to blow them out. It brings visions of coming home from school, letting the backpack fall to the ground as… Continue reading When Peace Kisses Righteousness
Nope, no balloons yet.I let the curtain fall back and silently tiptoe out of the bedroom. At half past six this time of year the sun takes its sweet time pushing past the horizon and with it, the hot air balloons. They won't be hanging in the sky for at least another hour. In the coolness… Continue reading Home, But Not Really
I’ve never been one to be afraid of the ocean. Okay, that’s not entirely true. There was that one time, as a 4-year-old where I lost one of my new water shoes while playing in the low tide, sucked off of me by the slurping waves of the Atlantic. With one foot bare and one foot covered and feeling sorry for myself, my mother assured me a nice fish probably made her home out of my shoe. It was scary to have the ocean take something away from me.