Happy Father's Day

Since the day, she was born, Rice has been the baby to 4 mothers my mother says... and of a great father.

Happy Father's day to our Rice's father.. The best father that could happen in her life so far.


My father..
He has been like this enormous cargo vessel passing so slowly through my narrow water gaps, in my shallow waters . Having an itinerary previously, a target, not quite understanding that meanwhile he passes through my waters, riping my waters, my life so enormously.
He is this very brave guy, father at the age of 24, sharp then and in love with law and politics.
...
I met this shining father and son in the farmers' market yesterday. I wanted to take a picture but my camera was running out of battery. The son served me with what I bought from there. He was around 10, bashful but happy you could say from his skin, pinkish and small happy blue eyes, a good student, a protective nice family's child, very well-behaved. His father explained that the summer break started and the son came to help him. The father had a proud smile talking about the son with a lacking teeth, his hard thick skin engraved by the days in the sun, working in the sun with a decent life.
I wanted to take a picture of them, the father and the sun smiling under different skins but in harmony. May be I will, next week in the real father's day -not in my mistaken one- and publish it if they allow me to.

The Pesto Sauce and The Goodness of Farmers' Market

Some goodness from the local farmers' market in Istinye is in my messy, happy kitchen now: fresh minth leaves, fresh thyme, fresh basil, home made tomato and pepper sauce and of course mulberries that make me think of their beautiful humble tree they fell from.

I will make pesto at basil's best time, with the recipe from Arman Kirim's very useful cookery book: Arman Hoca'nin Dunya Mutfagi (The World Cuisine of Professor Arman). I loved following his writings on cookery in the national Hurriyet newspaper but my favorite has been "Tazesi Makbuldur"(The Freshest Is Recommended), such an interesting good read, the autobiographical work of a successful economics professor that recites the stories around his cooking adventure, the life and the people around it. I especially liked the chapter on his italian neighbour and how he learns about pasta and italian cooking and the sudden loss of this beautiful young lady. So.. as he highly recommends in his "Freshest is Recommended" book, I went to the local farmers' market which I always loved to go. So let's have our fresh basil leaves from the marketplace and start doing an easy and great pesto sauce that you can save in the freezer for months.Recipe from Arman Kirim's book(Arman Hoca'nin Dunya Mutfagi) :

Ingredients:
Fresh basil leaves- 2 big handfuls
Garlic - 2 cloves
Olive Oil- Extra Virgin, 1/2 cup
Pine Nuts - 2 table spoons
Parmesan Cheese- Grated, 2 table spoons
Salt and freshly grinded black pepper

Puree all ingredients using a food processor and keep the sauce in the freezer to make a great taste out of a simple pasta. I am using this pesto sauce in different simple dishes such as chicken soup.

And as always.. don't forget to share. This time, I am going to share half of mine with my generous soul Oya who shared the local olive oil coming from her mother-in-law's favorite shop.

I have some plans to keep the fresh tyme chopped in olive oil with some garlic. I will check the internet whether others thought of such a solution.

Today

Today..
was a good day!

My home smelled clean and lasagna and imam bayildi from the oven

When My Brother Cried

When my brother cried
He was 3, I was 5

In the middle of the night

Waken up by my parents' fight

He was horrified

A horizontal 8 his mouth like

So desperate he was

His face red, downwards were his eyes

All I remember

I felt so strong to cover him with my bigger arms

When my brother cried

So helpless

Yesterday night

He was 33 in a dark blue wedding night

I felt the same I realised

I wanted to cover him in my arms

For my heart melted

The same way it was

When he was 3 and I was five

Waken up by his cry

8 June'09, Tarabya

To the Glory of Her Love

That endured all those lonely nights, all those dinners with couples, all our match-making fights, all the epidemic "move on" rituals of the century, all those mornings in the big trench of "him"less absence, all oblivion and all haunting memories..
To the glory of her unique love !.

And to the snow-white day she was dreaming of him, as white as her bride costume now..

And I am so glad I was wrong on waiting.

For the man has been her dream and not a home.

A Good Start for a New Home : Henna Night

Where I live, if you see someone with henna dye in her hand, you can guess that she had a celebration of someone close's wedding recently.

I will take you to a great South-Eastern henna night.

A Henna Night is a traditional celebration in Anatolia and takes place usually on the Friday before the wedding and normally it is a ladies night-in, celebrating the bride's new life and her farewell to her previous life within her family. A Henna Dying is a symbol of devotion of the girl for the new family. For us people, here in this part of Istanbul, it is fun and it feels good to be a part of the tradition of centuries.

And in our henna night yesterday we had the guys too..




The henna paste is brought in a tray, with candles placed in the henna. The invitees dance with the tray on top of their heads accompanied by traditional henna night songs, davul and zurna. The emotion is packed up in the video for you, to hear the music, davul, zurna, clapping and zilgits. Zilgit is the female high voices you will hear in the background and is a symbol of celebration.

First the bride and the groom's hands are dyied then the invitees.

Then starts the dances with the candles in hands and on the head..

It was so beautiful to see them dancing in the light of the candles moving with their figures.
If you see someone with henna dye in her hand, you can guess that she had a celebration of someone close's wedding recently.And that she might have been very happy and forgot about her troubles for a while, even of loosing her own home..

Changing Home, Changing Time

This bench outside the building's door knows me well. I called her name loud every time I arrived there: "Kaaa-riiiin.." If not heard.. again: "Kaaaa-riiin". This entry brings me the fresh smell of my cucumber-feta sandwiches, the taste of the cacao biscuits of 7 o'clock school days of our chilhood.

These stairs supported my steps going up to their appartement. My steps for 26 years, I use to take them two by two. now I am slower. They carried my feet carying my excitement, my "big news", my depressions, my life. I carried so much up there.

The stairs are still smelling the same. Getting you ready for her mother's home, embellished with her faith. Her faith in God, her faith in good days to come. Her home has always been an icon of beautiful nest for me.

Today I take these stairs to see the family on the occasion. She is not in. The family, all five sisters and their kids and come together on occasions. They come from the States, from Sweden from a close district nearby. They always are good together. And crowded.

This time, its for her wedding. Karin's wedding. Celebrating Faith and Love.

Today I sat on their table, had my water as usual, they had their morning coffees. The babies grew to kids, kids to grown ups. Even my favorite blondie that I remember carrying in my arms is engaged now. There we were circled around the very well known dining table, chatting about.. Life.. surrounded by Karin's new home gift in Zara Home bags.

The photo I have put here above is Dyala's, her yooungest niece of 5 years old. Below I tried to catch her calling her aunt asking about she comes to take her to school.

This coffee table, I know it well. This blue-green bowl, that painting on the wall, these frames, I all know them well. And they know me well now. So well for 26 years.

I love the warmth and the beauty of this home, the big hugs of this family and the 26 years that have passed in the train whistle, the vapour from the kithen's delicious cooking, the wind blowing the clean curtains, the soft light through.

I loved Karin's.