The Piano Speaks

by Sandra BEASLEY

For an hour I forgot my fat self,

my neurotic innards, my addiction to alignment.

For an hour I forgot my fear of rain.

For an hour I was a salamander

shimmying through the kelp in search of shore,

and under his fingers the notes slid loose

from my belly in a long jellyrope of eggs

that took root in the mud. And what

would hatch, I did not know—

a lie. A waltz. An apostle of glass.

For an hour I stood on two legs

and ran. For an hour I panted and galloped.

For an hour I was a maple tree,

and under the summer of his fingers

the notes seeded and winged away

in the clutch of small, elegant helicopters.

Didem's Photography - Away From Home

Didem is a sweet classmate of mine from secondary school. She is this unexplicable combination of funny(very funny), gorgeous and experimental.

She has been a writer for Marie-Claire Turkey and many others, a passionate rally fan and now a talented photographer. She is away from home, actually found home away from us in England. I liked her web site and pictures reflecting her happiness of exploration.

So these are all her photos. And for the first time in my blog, photos that are not taken by me. You can treasure her in didem's photography web page.

And this way you may give a break with my ugly photography lately due to my adaptation period to my new camera.

Holiday Plans

There they are, making holiday plans, on my bed..
And I can not go anywhere. I have just started a new job and have to stay here.
But..
Just realized that there will be oficially 4 days off each month starting with september till the end of the year.
So I will make mines while, probably, Thomas will be biting my toes gently in the warmth of the same bed and while, probably, they will be exploring the undersea treasures in Kaş. Very probably.

And this is called staying at home. Really.

To Julochka From Our Home ..

Dear Julochka;

We like to watch her supernatural efforts to knit her huge alpaca cardigan in her bedroom's August heat, in the dim light with the soft songs of the radio.

Isn't she sweet? As pure as snow just like her name implies..

Home is clean now. The carpets and the fridge sent by her mother are settled now. So the clutter was hers. And not ours Julotchka! We may give love bites on each others backs, we may race at nights, break beatiful candleholders, frames, burners, plates, vases or dig the soil out of the pots, eat her plants, drink from the kitchen tab when she is not around but no Juloschka, no that mess, those folded carpets, those mirrors, that mess was not ours ! We may just take the pleasure of scratch tha carpets but no.. we have nothing to do with this mess, with her mother obsessed by her having cold bear foot on the floor.

That would just be unfair..

We are just two serene creatures. Godsends.. We are the peace on earth..

Yours,

Thomas and Chico

And one more thing by the way..

Although she doesn't know what what we do when she is gone, we know more about her life out.

We know her enthousiasm to attend her Project Management Professional certificate preparation course despite her achy itchy eyes with Chico's eternal conjuctivitis (she shouldn't try that hard to cure cats eyes)

or which favorite breakfast she had for instance, this morning

Or her favorite fairy tale(Snow Queen of course!), or and thus her dream land (Scandinavia) or that she is in rage of not being able to Sweden while her best friend is visiting Stocholm for a family wedding right now..

We know more and we are more Julochka.

Loves from this side of the earth,

On the Way Home

Today,

on my way home I heard something beautiful, I stopped by and tasted the moment.. I listened to the whispers of the pine trees' leaves in the beautiful summer evening

"I am the Eye
I am the Light
I am the new limit in the sky

I am the water in the glass
I am the water in the sea
I am tree and I am grass
I am the generation ‘C’

I am the Queen, I am the King
I am the holder of the Ring
I have power in my fists
I know no fear: I took all risks

I am the one who couldn’t wait any longer
I am the imaginary number
I am the new one in the band...
I am big
I am small...
I can’t wait to hold your hand
∞ "

Today ,
has been Maya STEINS' first day out on earth.
The little sweet poem above is written by "Mr. Father" on the occasion of the baby annnouncement. I just loved it and wanted share it with you.
Welcome to our Planet Maya where away from the plazas, trees whisper on the way back home, if you have time to listen.
And I just love it Maya.
Hope you will too..
ps: can't wait to hold your hand!

Let There Be Cleaning !

While I'm gone..

Don't Kill the Birthday Girl *

H told me that she doesn't feel like a birthday dinner with all friends around. She said she just wants to go to the fair-ground with me and my sister and her recently made 3 friends that she knew through my sister. So we did it that way.
This is H on her last birthday on the 8th of August. We had great fun. So much that I lost my voice for 3 days that followed.

The other day when I stayed over at her place, I woke up before her. As I didn't want to disturb, I decided to quietly leave the appartment. I looked at her in her sleep. And I felt compassion. Now that she was quiet, now that she was gone to far countries on the deep sleep map, now that she was quiete, I could let my self speak the truth and not to celebrate or cheer up anymore.

I felt compassion for her broken little heart full of colors, ready to make dreams all the time, her constant belief in happiness..
For what she went through was hard to see the close ones on her birthday.
For it was closeness that hurt her colorful mocking bird lately.
I left the appartment in the silence of knowing these. The silence underneath our fair-ground joy.

* Don't Kill the Birthday Girl: Tales From An Allergic Life is the beautiful title of the forthcoming memoir of Sandra BEASLEY that I am looking forward to read soon