Race Or Joke?

A few posts back, I wrote that I'd started running again and planned to run a race this month, hoping a public announcement will keep me accountable. Well, I am here to say that I followed through with a 10k (6.2 miles).

The intercontinental race had been newly formulated to include a 10k, in addition to the 8k (5 miles), 15k (9 miles), and 42k (26 miles). The 8k is a fun run, not timed; in other words, it's a walk. The course starts on the Asian side, where we live, and continues over the bridge to the European side, the only race course in the world to span two continents. The suspension bridge with its spectacular view of the strait is the biggest draw of the 8k participants and the race is the only time of the year that people are allowed to walk on the bridge. About 80,000 people were in the 8k and 20,000 in the 10, 15, 42k. The 8k started half hour after the others.

Side note: In a previous post, I said I tried to sign up for the 10k originally but it was full so I signed up for the 8k instead. A friend told me that the race is so lax that I could run the 10k anyway. No one would be checking my racing bib (different colors for each race). Sure enough, she was right. No one was checking so I was able to run the 10k.

The day was sunny and about 50 degrees so I had on running tights and running jacket (which I took off later, even though I was alternated between hot and cold throughout the race) over a short-sleeve shirt, anticipating cold winds at the bridge. I arrived with four friends and got separated from them in the crush. It was chaotic, to the say the least. After searching high and low for them and dealing with the disappointment at the prospect of running without a friend, I lined up for the 10k, praying that I would find my friends along the race. The 15k and 42k participants were lined up ahead, closer to the bridge, while the 10k was higher up the hill so I could see down the hill and watched the huge mass spill over the starting line and up the bridge. After that group was mostly gone, we started 20 minutes later.

To say the race was enormous and therefore a madhouse is to make an understatement. While there were many competitive runners in the 10k, there were also a great deal of walkers. And bystanders. I dodged and weaved around the walkers leading up to the bridge but as soon as I arrived on the bridge, I began to see people at a standstill in groups....in the middle of the course. Like I said, people just wanted to be on the bridge. They were taking photos of themselves with the view behind them, chatting with one another. People were walking in all directions, even towards the starting line. I encountered people walking shoulder to shoulder in a line across the course with no way for anyone to run past. I spied a small opening and gently shoved a man aside so I could run past. It was just chaos and I was aghast. I was told to expect this but it still didn't stop the surprise and subsequent rise of irritation in me. I kept thinking, this race is a joke, I'll never do this again.

Once I got across the bridge, the chaos lessened and thinned out. People remained on the bridge and mostly runners now surrounded me, although many walked later on in the race so I continued to dodge and weave. I was happy to get off the bridge. I was expecting to enjoy running across the bridge but it wasn't exhilarating in itself. It didn't strike me as surreal to be crossing from one continent to another on foot. I was simply running a race, with some glimpses of the same view I've seen many times from the comfort of a car.

The course wound from the bridge, uphill on the highway, down an off-ramp and then up another hill. I ran halfway up this hill (the third, the steepest, on the course so I was already feeling the hills) and losing my breath, I stopped to walk for about a minute. I spied the top of the hill which inspired me to run the rest of the way up and as I did so, I approached a redheaded woman from behind who was walking, fatigued. I thought I recognized her but I ran a bit past her to see her face for confirmation, said hi, and began to drag her along. She's a friend of mine, also a co-worker who lives in another city, who had come to my city for the race. I didn't know this but she had a goal to finish the 10k in 1:15:00 and apparently, as she told me later, my dragging her along and running together helped her to achieve her goal. We ran together at the same pace (slow) and finished together in 1:13:00. Except for a one-minute walk up a hill, I was happy that I ran the entire race, even though I wanted to stop and walk so many times but having a running buddy kept me motivated. I was especially happy to have a buddy to run with - the Father had answered my prayers with this girl, not the friends that I arrived with.

Beside the bridge fiasco, I had fun running the race :-). Races are fun with the energy and excitement and crossing the finish line is exhilarating. No one was there to cheer me at the finishing line but maybe next time G and the girls can be there.

(pictures from the Internet):

The 8k - thank goodness I wasn't running in that

Bridge - facing European side

I'm pretty sore right now. I'd fallen behind on my training schedule, sidelined with a stomach bug for a week and subsequent 2-mile rut with leaden legs for a week or two. I broke out of the rut by changing my route a week before the race and jumped from 2 miles to 4 miles, which was just two days prior to the race. The 2-mile jump to 6 miles on race day put a strain on my ITB (illiotibial band), my old nemesis, so I had some pain afterward. I've been working on my ITB so I don't think I have an injury. I guess the 4-mile increase in 1.5 week (from 2 to 6) is enough to bother a less experienced runner like me and I was probably unwise to run the 10k but I was stubborn :-)

Maybe next time, I can work on my speed and run a 10k in 60 minutes.

A Wedding

I have to say that we were surprised by how weddings are done here. Here's what happened:

First, we received an invitation. It had the usual information: who, what, where, and when. The location was a wedding salon as it is called here. When we arrived at the wedding salon, I was surprised to see several brides and grooms coming and going. It wasn't until we went through the ceremony that we realized why. The wedding salon is a government building devoted to weddings. This particular building has several salons so each bride and groom is assigned a salon by appointment. So, all the salons are being used at the same time -- in other words, there are several brides in the building at the same time, coming and going all day long. I said several because the civil ceremony itself is quite short, about 15 minutes long. So a salon is up and ready to go for the next couple when one ceremony is over and all the guests have filed out.

One part of me was fascinated because I got to see brides coming and going in their wedding splendor in a variety of styles. That's just fun! Another part of me was aghast because…well, I'm an American who grew up in a culture that the bride (and groom) is the center of attention for one day and for another bride to show up would be a horror. Here, it's normal for brides to see other brides on their wedding day and they don't have the sense of entitlement that they must be the only bride present and all attention must be on them alone. 

Just arrived

Before entering the building

Notice the lack of traditional garb? The civil ceremony is very Western in dress and ceremony.

The bride and groom disappeared into the building and the guests went to the assigned salon (as indicated on the invitation) and sat in the stadium seats, facing a platform in the front. The bride and groom were announced and they appeared from the center of the platform and sat down at the table. In the picture below, you can see the entrance behind them which they appeared from.

Then the marriage official showed up (in red gown on the right), there was a bit of dialogue and laughter. Two witnesses were present at the table to the left, some friends of theirs, I guess. I think there were some vows said. The marriage certificate was handed to them and they signed. The witnesses signed. That was it. The wedding ceremony was done. From the time they sat down until they were pronounced married was probably only 15 minutes. Very civil, indeed.

Signing the marriage certificate

Married!

Then people from outside in the hallway began filing in to grab seats for the next ceremony while we all filed out. The wedding couple stood in the hallway while we got in line to shake hands and congratulate them. You can pin money or gold coins to their clothes or stick the money in her cute little satchel on her wrist.

Their families couldn't afford much so no reception was given (if a reception is given, I believe they are similar to Western wedding receptions - food, music, dancing). The couple went out to dinner with some of their friends to celebrate at a restaurant. We went home. Short and simple, huh?

After having seen a civil ceremony, I was curious as to whether a religious ceremony is normally held. I wasn't expecting one with this couple who are pretty secular but I was wondering what a religious ceremony looked like. I couldn't find much on the Internet but it seems that when the Ottoman Empire disintegrated and the republic of TKY was founded in 1923, a law was passed that religious marriage ceremonies were not recognized by the government. The law immediately created millions of illegitimate children. People began to have civil marriages in order to protect themselves and their children and receive the benefits of the law (inheritance, etc). I think the religious ceremony fell to the wayside but as far as I can tell, the religious ceremony is not much different from ours in America - the bride and groom are present, an imam may have them repeat vows and maybe deliver a short sermon, and witnesses for both sides must be present.

As to any sort of cultural traditions in a ceremony, it probably varies from country to country. In America, we have the song, unity candle, bridesmaids, groomsmen, flower girl, ring bearer, etc. I'm not sure what they do here but the only thing I know is that in the rural areas, the wedding party hires a man to beat a drum and follow them about. I think that the groom's family show up at the bride's family home (while the drummer is outside continuing to beat away) to escort the bride to the groom's home where the religious ceremony is held and a feast after. When we were visiting out east (rural), we listened to a drum beat all day and all night. I watched a car full of dressed up people show up at our building and escort the bride out and go somewhere close because we could still hear the drum. It doesn't play a nice beat or anything; it's just a monotonous boom-boom-boom.

There you have it. I think the henna night is supposed to be the most important ritual (as explained in a previous post) and the marriage itself is just a social contract.

Henna Night

My language teacher's niece (hearing) recently got married. My teacher invited me, knowing I was curious about the culture and traditions here. I am thankful that I got to observe.

Here, a couple days before the wedding, the women have what is called "henna night." It is ceremony in which the family of the bride give her away to the family of the groom. It is an ancient ritual (some say it dates back to prophet Muhammed), celebrated in the Middle East, North Africa, and India. From what I understand, the ritual had fallen out of favor after the founding of TKY in 1923, returned in recent years, and evolved quite a bit in the large cities (where the wealthier, secular urbanites had originally viewed the ritual as archaic and backwards) while the rural class never stopped holding the ritual, especially in the traditional way. So, the henna night that I saw was probably not very close to the traditional henna night from centuries past. From what I have read, the traditional henna night is heavy with symbolism and religious meaning.

On with the story.

I showed up on a Thursday night at the bride's mother home. I think henna night party is normally held in a rented salon (or what we would call a reception hall or ballroom) if you can afford it. After socializing and dancing, the bride went and changed into a traditional costume in another room with red veil over her head. Her outfit consisted of a blouse, long coat, and pantaloons type of pants that gathered at the ankle cuffs. Her shoes were the traditional slippers with toes that curled up to a point (very classic Middle Eastern). Her clothes were maroon with ornate gold embroidery and her veil was a bright red.

The lights were turned out and some ladies filed in with a square of sequined cloth in one hand and a candle in another. One of the ladies held a tray with four candles and a tray of henna paste. The bride came in, sat in a chair, and the ladies holding the candles walked in a circle around her. They are supposed to be unmarried so I assume they were. The tray with the henna was held over the bride's head for the duration. I can't remember if they were singing or if there was simply music. After the music or singing was done, everyone in the room began to sing a song, which to my ears sounded sad even though I didn't know the words. Later, I looked up the translation of the song:

"They shouldn't build homes on the high hills
They shouldn't give girls to faraway cities
They shouldn't upset the mother's one and only

May the birds carry the message
I miss my mother
Both my mother and father
I miss my village

I wish my father had a horse, he could jump on it and come
I wish my mother had a sail, she could open it and come
I wish my siblings knew the way, they could come

May the birds carry the message
I miss my mother
Both my mother and father
I miss my village"

Circling the bride

Tray over bride's head

At this point, the bride is supposed to cry. The mother cries, too. Later, when the lights were turned on, I noticed many other women crying. Anyway, during this song, the mother-in-law (in this case, the mother-in-law had passed away some years earlier so it was another relative) came to the bride while the other ladies continued to circle around. The mother-in-law is supposed to try and apply henna to the bride's hand (more on the henna in a moment) and the bride is supposed to refuse to open her hand. Then the mother-in-law puts a gold coin (more on the symbolism in a moment) and then applies henna. She closes the bride's hand and puts a scarf around both hands or gloves.

Coin in the bride's hand and applying henna 

Putting on gloves

Then after this was done, the lights were turned on, the bride began to kiss and hug everyone, starting with her teary mother. Those who were older and deserved honor, she held their hand and tapped the back of their hand on her chin and then her forehead (it's a sign of respect for elders).

Traditional garb with red veil 

The bride

 Refreshments and snacks were passed around and all the guests received henna in their palm.

Henna - it left an orange stain on my hand for nearly two weeks.

The symbolism of henna seems to be varied. From the research I've done, it is rooted in an old myth that henna started back in the days of the prophet Muhammed when he would put henna in the palms of his soldiers just before battle, to represent blood and sacrifice. There are other interpretations of henna. I have an excerpt from a research article and it's long so feel free to skip it. The excerpt also explains why the bride is expected to initially reject the mother-in-law's application of henna until she receives a gold coin.

"The dominant symbol in this traditional henna-night is the henna. It not only serves as a "means to the fulfillment of the avowed purposes" of the ritual, "but also more importantly refer values that are regarded as ends in themselves" (Turner 1967: 20). Both the attendees of the traditional and the new henna-nights comment that the red henna stands for blood. Some provide a further interpretation that blood implies the transformation of the bride from girlhood to womanhood. This interpretation voices a very strict traditional and religious norm, which defines the woman’s body as an object belonging to the husband. It dictates that females can transform from girlhood to womanhood only through marriage and that premarital sexual intercourse is not only forbidden, but also unquestionable. With this rite-of-passage the adult women are symbolically re-establishing a religious and traditional norm, which is considered by the conservatives as one of the basic principles that holds the Turkish society together. Through the female social solidarity in this women-only ritual, the traditional henna-night reproduces patriarchal relations, reifying their collective acceptance of male domination.

Other than explaining henna as the blood of the virgin, we can also interpret it as the blood of the warrior. Blood of the warrior refers to struggle, resoluteness, and sacrifice. As mentioned above, after the bride’s palms are colored, the attendees of the ritual, like the soldiers of the prophet, also color their palms with henna, establishing the collective understanding of marriage as a struggle in which the woman is responsible for its survival and "success" (i.e., keeping the family together and raising honest, moral and respectful children). Many folk poems and sayings convey the sacredness of blood. Blood implies dedication, honor and pride, and indicates the presence of sacred values to which people can devote their lives. Within this framework, the use of henna grants sacred properties to the institution of marriage. Unlike modern conceptions of marriage, it does not imply sacredness in terms of an intimate bond between man and woman. Rather marriage becomes an entity for raising children and an institution in which the honor of women (but not of men) is constructed. The woman is assigned the responsibility to make the necessary compromises to ensure the continuity of the family. Through coloring only the woman’s palms, she (but not her husband) is symbolically accepting this responsibility to sacrifice for her family. However, via the symbol of the mother-in-law putting a gold coin into the palm of the bride, some kind of responsibility is assigned to the groom’s family, if not to the groom directly. When the bride initially rejects the mother-in-law’s offer of henna, she symbolically is asking for a commitment from the groom’s family. Putting a gold coin in her palm, the mother-in-law is symbolically communicating their acceptance of the responsibility to provide financial security for the new family. But, with the responsibility comes power. The bride belongs to the groom’s family. The henna night establishes the authority of the groom’s parents, as well as the groom himself, over the bride." (source)

Quite interesting.

After henna night, G and I went to the wedding ceremony which I will share about in the next post.

A Brilliant Bird

Living in a busy, crowded city like mine, you don't expect to see any wildlife. Well, the city isn't completely devoid of wildlife. Besides stray cats and dogs (there are no squirrels here), there are birds.

The birds we see all the time are pigeons, crows (they are gray with a black head and neck, as if wearing an executioner's hood), a couple of different types of seagulls, terns, and little brown, nondescript birds (larks, maybe?). There isn't a big variety and definitely not a colorful variety. There are no cardinals, blue jays, woodpeckers, etc.

Besides seagulls and terns, there is a kind of black bird that swims half submerged and dives for fish from the surface. Its bill almost look like a duck's. They never fly inland as the seagulls do. I don't know what they are but I've seen birds similar to them in the marshes of Florida. 

One day recently, I was down by the water, a quieter part of the shoreline. In the corner of my eye, I noticed a movement and turned my head to catch a bird flying away from me. I saw a warm brown head with a bright turquoise back before he disappeared from my sight. After seeing birds in the white, brown, black, gray colors for two years, I was intrigued by the lovely turquoise. I thought about the bird often and decided to try googling it. To my surprise, I was able to identify it:

Source: Wikipedia

Source: Wikipeida

It is a white-throated kingfisher. Isn't it lovely? I was pretty stoked because kingfishers are some of my favorite birds in Florida. Near my hometown, there is a narrow beach of soft sand called Mashes Sands that lies between a shallow bay and saltwater marshes. You could wade out in the bay for a hundred yards or more and the water will barely reach above your thighs. There is a creek that flows out from the marshes into the bay. This complex, delicate ecosystem of marsh and bay is home to a great variety of animals from birds to crabs to fishes, and even small sharks. The saltwater is probably more brackish than true blue saltwater. Here, I used to watch the kingfishers beat their wings, hovering high in the air above the marshes for several minutes, with their heads pointed straight down and then suddenly dive-bomb into the water to catch their prey. I was always amazed at how long they kept this fixed position in the air, hardly wavering from it. I have to admit that the kingfishers of Mashes Sands don't have anything on these beautiful white-throated kingfishers with the brilliant blue/turquoise wings and tails.

Well, I'm getting homesick writing about Mashes Sands. The next post should contain a description of a cultural tradition that I got to experience recently. Stay tuned.

Running

I've started running again. It'd been two years since I stopped running. I gave it up for two reasons. I had chronic ITB band syndrome that was caused by uneven leg lengths, according to my orthopedic doctor. ITB band syndrome is difficult to recover from. There wasn't much I could do about my uneven leg lengths and it seemed that I would always have ITB band syndrome. I kept running off and on but found some relief on the treadmill at the local Y. Secondly, we moved overseas and running fell low on my priority list. When I got pregnant, I pretty much gave up the idea right then. After that, I worked out to DVDs in my living room or went for long walks until I got too pregnant, fat, and tired.

When D turned 5 months, I finally began exercising again, alternating between DVDs and CrossFit-style workouts. Some months later, I was trying to work out and the girls were crying, wanting to join in and get tangled up in my workouts, climbing on me as I was doing mountain climbers, G was frustrated trying to keep them away while I used the living room space. I said, "Gah! I've gotta get out of here!" I went for a run. Oh, how I missed running! The escape, the freedom, the time to myself, the rush of endorphins afterward.

I starting running this summer but I was kind of unfocused and unsure what to do. I really wanted to learn how to run smart and prevent injury. I started researching madly, wondering if my leg length discrepancy was really the death knell for running. I am addicted to researching and information and it really does come into handy because I learned through my research that it is possible to run injury-free. I could run without pain in my hips and knee. No more piriformis syndrome (another injury I suffered, notably during my half-marthon in Warsaw, Poland) and ITB syndrome.

I have on my computer a training schedule, customized to my history of injuries and level of experience by a certified running coach with 14 years of experience. Since I'm starting from scratch after a two-year hiatus, I'm a beginning runner. The schedule includes core strength workouts, ITB band rehab exercises (to prevent the syndrome), glute exercises (weak hip muscles can cause ITB band syndrome), hip openers, and tennis ball work. The schedule is about preventing injury but the coach built in exercises during my runs to build speed and endurance safely, on top of increasing mileage so I appreciate that. It's only been about three weeks on this training schedule and so far, so good.

Running is not my favorite topic to blog about but the reason I decided to blog about it is for a measure of accountability. I enjoy seeing progress in my running and the incremental improvements are really addicting and encouraging. Having goals will facilitate that even more. My goal is to run some races and there is an 8k (a hair under 5 miles) race next month. The race is also a marathon, 15k, and 10k. I tried to sign up for the 10k but the registration was full but the 8k was available. It's a fun run, meaning it's not timed. The unique thing about this race is that it's the only race in the world that spans two continents, starting on the Asian side and over a bridge to the European side. How cool is that? It's definitely a bucket list item so the 8k is a good start.

My next goal is to run a 10k and I am scouring for other races in the spring but I am not finding anything that isn't a trail race, which I have zero experience in...unless you count my wild hoyden childhood days running around barefoot on dirt roads and in the woods. I may have to wait until we go stateside to run a 10k.

My next big goal is to run a half-marathon next fall after we come stateside. I should be able to find one easily in North Carolina or Virginia.

Now that I've told you what my goals are, I will start to feel accountable, thinking that you guys are checking on me, even though you may actually forget this post within minutes of reading this and won't actually be checking on me but my imagination will do the rest and that should give some motivation to achieve my goals.

Okay, half-marathon next fall or bust!

Signs You've Been Here Too Long

I happened to stumble onto an article written by a Spanish expat living (or lived) here in IST. It's 50 signs you've been in my country too long. I didn't identify with some of the items on his list (mostly has to do with partying, alcohol, or food I can't eat), especially one item that says you're thinking about growing a mustache. I can't grow one but I can see why he said that; so many men here wear mustaches. Anyway, I deleted what doesn't apply to me so the list was pared down to 36 signs.

1. You automatically take off your shoes when entering a house.

2. Friends don’t invite you to their homes for dinner, but for breakfast.

3. You know the name of the guy at the bakkal (corner store) on your street.

4. Everything is çok (very): çok güzel, çok iyi, çok ayıp...

5. You have started to answer questions by repeating the answer (evet, evet; var, var; hayır, hayır; yok, yok).

6. You’ve forgotten what it means to recycle.

7. You no longer hear the honking of car horns.

8. You know there is always traffic in Istanbul: the question is whether there is traffic or A LOT of traffic.

9. You know you’ll find a portrait of Atatürk everywhere you go.

10. You have learned to accept yogurt as something salty you drink with your food rather than something sweet you eat for dessert.

11. You hardly hear it anymore when the mosques issue the call to prayer. Five times a day. Starting at 05.30.

12. You have drunk çay when it’s 35 degrees Celsius outside.

13. You know the only way to cross the street is kamikaze-style, with the cars passing just a few centimetres away. Traffic lights? What are those?

14. You know the first rule about Atatürk is: you do not say anything bad about Atatürk.

15. And the second rule about Atatürk is: you do not say anything bad about Atatürk.

16. You ask for a student discount or try to bargain for almost everything.

17. Remember when you used to notice how there was always a joker jumping the queue without anyone complaining? Now you’re that joker.

18. You’re still looking for the cheapest kebab in the city.

19. You do not say "ok"; you say "tamam."

20. You kiss both cheeks with your close friends.

21. It doesn’t surprise you anymore to see two macho guys walking together with linked arms.

22. The entrance to your house looks like a shoe store.

23. You have accepted olives and cheese as part of your breakfast.

24. You have accepted that there will always be soup and yogurt with your food.

25. You have accepted yogurt as a sauce.

26. You think it’s normal to "drink a cigarette," "close the phone" or having it be "raining snow."

27. You call older neighbours "aunt" and "uncle."

28. You don’t get surprised when some people still give prices in millions of liras.

29. You now expect to get a wet-wipe soaked in lemon scent at the end of a restaurant meal (and sometimes will take extra to stick in your bag for the kids -- added by Diana)

30. When you need groceries, you call the shop on the corner and have them sent up to you in a basket.

31. You know that kahvaltı means "under or after the coffee" – and that there is never coffee after breakfast.

32. You know you’ll always find the sugar served in cubes

33. You’ve stopped expecting sauce in your döner kebab and know it is normal to find French fries in it instead (I expect it in Greg's durums) 

34. You only go to the historic part of the city when your friends visit you.

35. You think it’s normal for motorcyclists to ride in the wrong direction, without a helmet, and sometimes on the sidewalk.

36. You know every building has a name of a person on it, and usually two numbers: the old one and the new one.

I would add a few more:

37. You now know all the hand gestures and head movements and eyebrow raises; they are surprisingly numerous, intricate, and subtle.

38. You think nothing of taking several modes of transportation in one trip in the city, which includes a taxi, ferry, metro, bus, minibus, metrobus, dolmus, and tram.

39. You shop at pazars which are the cheapest places to buy produce.

40. You hardly notice the profuse attention and gifts lavished on your children.

41. You drive and lay on the horn like a native.

42. You don't notice the metal detectors and lack of trashcans at the malls anymore, and because of the lack of trashcans, you're accustomed to leaving your mess on the table in the food court.

What Happened to August?

What a blur.

August was a blur. After my last post, we celebrated DB's birthday, found out G's grandfather had passed away after a summer-long decline, then celebrated my birthday, and a week later, G left for the States for 10 days to celebrate the exemplary character and life of his grandfather. Two days after G returned, our supervisors came to stay for about 6 days. We filled the days with meetings and training. After our supervisors left, the following week was chaotic with my ear infection (which can make you feel ill!), A's illness, doctor appointments for the girls and myself, preschool issues, babysitter search, numerous things cropping up, etc. We're now going into the second week of September and I can finally say that we will start settling back into routine.

Whew.

While G was gone, I got sick with the worst allergy attacks I've had in years. As a general rule, I don't really have respiratory allergies. I tend to have attacks when there is a sudden change in allergens. For instance, I once flew to an area of the United States that was in high pollen season and as soon as I landed, my immune system went nuts and I had a bad allergy attack. I was inhaling pollen that we didn't have in Florida and my body was not accustomed to it. In this case, I blame my allergy attacks on the Lodos. It's a wind that blows from Africa, carrying minerals and dust. We have had our windows open all summer long to the breezes and the obligatory dirt blow in and cover everything. I had no problem with allergies. I started to get the sniffles shortly before G left and the attacks became progressively worse and I fell really ill. I noticed that there was an unusual amount of dirt covering surfaces in my house. My black glass stovetop would be covered with a thick layer within an hour of wiping it clean. DB's hands and knees were blacker than usual. I have no idea if the Lodos was blowing while G was gone so maybe it wasn't the Lodos but a just crazy amount of dirt in the air. The locals often blame respiratory illnesses on the Lodos so maybe I'm just acting like a local...

While G was gone, I learned that a cranky, hot, sick, tired mama does not a patient mama make. I know that logically but what I am trying to say that I have learned my limits. I yelled at my girls more than once (cringe). As I spent sleepless night after sleepless night from nasal congestion and waking up to sneeze and blow my nose, I decided to give myself a break for the sake of the girls. I turned on the AC more than usual so that reduced some of my crankiness. I took a couple of days off from language and concentrated on resting as my allergies slowly subsided under the onslaught of Claritin. Instead of the usual 15-minute walk to school to pick up A, I drove the car because walking in the heat exhausted my already-taxed body too quickly and A was melting down more than usual on the walk home, and the two combining conditions made my patience disintegrate within seconds. I got help from local American friends who paid a bill for me, spent an afternoon chatting with me, met with me for coffee (in very strong winds, I might add -- it was the Lodos!) so I wouldn't go crazy being cooped up, and hosted me and the girls for dinner once. I watched a lot of movies at night.

It's sad because I'd started off really well during G's absence before spiraling down into the dark void of allergies - I was accomplishing language tasks, keeping the house picked up (not necessarily clean), doing reasonably well in feeding the girls cooked meals (which was easy with the crockpot and the leftovers stretched two or three days so I didn't cook as often), keeping up the laundry, etc. All that was short-lived....it's the Lodos, I tell you!

Needless to say, the girls survived. They were overjoyed to see their daddy and so was I. I learned a lesson about parenting alone while sick: cut yourself some slack, for goodness's sake. Although I am still suffering slight attacks of sneezing now and then and my subsequent ear infection have healed, I no longer feel ill and my energy and mental clarity have returned. The weather is lovely now that the heat has subsided and the temperatures are in the mid-70's. The cool fall weather does wonders for the disposition; I feel like a new person.

And now, to get back into routine....

(which is a joke between G and I because our life is not normal and a routine is nearly impossible).