Showing posts with label daily life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label daily life. Show all posts

Tuesday, June 09, 2009

Like Waffles in the Ice Maker



I have an ongoing battle with freezers. It doesn’t matter what size fridge I have, extra-large American style or smaller apartment-size with no defrost, I always seem to over-stuff my freezer compartment. Things fall out on my toes, I can’t find those donuts I swear I put in there, etc. Giant boxes of soybeans and pizzas from Costco don’t help.
My kids eat frozen waffles, and I had no room, so I put a packet in the ice-maker. Don’t ever do this. The plastic got wound in the mechanism, and pretty soon waffles were spitting out the door into your coke. Which is pretty gross.
Sometimes I really f**k things up.
No one is perfect, especially me.
And I’m sorry.

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Table/Turtle^haus



An old friend of mine in NYC has started a new blog called Turtle^haus. It’s about real living in spaces we create. She’s a fantastically gifted woman: architect, librarian, translator (mostly movies Italian/English), writer, mom, and life enthusiast.
Her first post made me write the story of my table. (And yes, that's my painting hanging above her table in Brooklyn.)
...
The oak clawfoot table pictured above was in my grandmother’s childhood home in Fort Wayne, Indiana. When my great-grandparents died, it was shipped out to California, and for years my grandmother served her extended family on it. Later, as she got older, the cooking fell to me, and I loaded it with dishes and then wiped it clean once a week.
It’s both elegant and strangely primitive. The grain is heavy and the color dark. It has several leaves, and can accommodate about 16 people.
When she was dying, my grandmother told me she wanted me to have the table. At first I thought, no, it’s not my style, I like modern furniture. But later I realized, Kloe don’t be stupid, this is such a gift. However, when she died there was no mention in the will that the table was to go to me, and my uncle proposed to sell it. I protested, but to no avail. Luckily, later he got down on his back under it, and found the post-it in my gram’s hand—said the table was mine.
So now I have it, and it serves as a metaphor for my creative projects and family life. We use it as a project table: play games on it, do homework on it, make artwork on it (protected of course). Someday I’ll again use it as my kitchen table and serve pot roast on it like my gram taught me.
It is one of my most prized possessions.

Tuesday, September 09, 2008

Sometimes this is my day:



I get home from teaching my 100 plus students, some of whom are only 18 and still talking about their “senior year,” after frantically searching for a set of classroom keys I’ve misplaced, teaching half a lecture with a projector that makes all artwork yellow, and attending a parent meeting at the elementary school district that was a waste of time.
I face my own progeny, one of whom is crying over his homework that is taking too long (and yes, it is, and I’m going to complain to the teacher about it, ridiculous that a 10 year old has 3 hours of homework), and the other who is crying because he can’t get his newly tied shoes untied. And the milk has gone bad somehow, and everyone hated their lunch that I made that morning, and the laundry has piled up and and and… it’s going to be a very long semester…

Saturday, July 12, 2008

Virginity Lost

















Today I fell for the first time. Skating, I mean. Luckily I was wearing wrist guards, or I’d be messed up. Haven’t had a raspberry since I was a kid. I guess I had gotten a bit cocky.
Am enjoying another month in a studio. What a luxury, to have space to paint. Yesterday the place was hopping, artists in and out, a casting call for an online video in the photo studio, people walking through. Both distracting and what you want from such a place. But the rent is just too high.

Friday, July 04, 2008

Happy 4th

















Have two writers from the East Coast visiting me, very fun women. My kind of women: one brought 9 pairs of shoes for 4 days. Shoes, meaning heels.
Tonight we’re doing Turkish BBQ: mercimek kofte, lamb kofte, shish, leeks in oil, imam beyildi (stuffed eggplant), baklava, raki, cay.
Kisses, and have a great 4th.

Monday, April 21, 2008

Once a Child, Always…

















Ran into one of my grandmother’s friends today. The very day I was visiting the cemetery for the first time since her death (brought pink bougainvillea, she would have liked that).
The friend said she didn’t need to ask about how I am, she’s reading this blog. Gulp.
And she noticed the F-word. Double gulp.
And that my gram would not approve and that Kloe, as a Bratz, doesn’t talk that way.
Like my gram was haranguing me from the grave…
Sigh.
I just have to slow down.

Sunday, March 09, 2008

Soft-Centered Kloe

















My kids are at that Why-can’t-we-have-a-dog stage. It might be nice (I’ve never had a dog), but friends have told me it’s like having another baby. And I’m so glad the baby stage is past.
Sometimes you feel yourself getting worn down, though. Like an ice cream cone slowly melting, leaving big chocolate rivulets.

Saturday, March 01, 2008

Wow

















I was totally out of it yesterday when I wrote that post. Don’t even remember typing it. I guess all the stress just built up and I needed to PARTY. And that photo, really… bad girl, Kloe…

Thursday, February 21, 2008

Rant, or W. W. S-B. S?
















It bugs me when someone disparages the “younger generation” for not being able to live without a computer, for not reading the newspaper and instead getting news online, or for having much of their social life online. I realize it’s often ignorance and fear that non-digitalizers exhibit with such nonsense. But to say everyone under 25 or 30 is stupid, it’s just outrageous.
I also hate when people dis our educational system. They have no idea how amazing American education is compared to how much of the world learns. Yes, there are big problems, but god bless it, we produce creative problem-solvers, not robots. We believe we can affect the world, or at least our little piece of it, while many non-Americans feel so oppressed by fate and circumstance that they are mostly paralyzed.
Wake up!!!

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Ballet

















I studied ballet for about 12 years when I was a child and teen (I bet you could have never guessed that, friggin' goodie-two-shoes that I am). I was never very good, but I loved it. Ballet is hard on self-esteem for a girl; you hate your body and you hate any sign of fat. But it’s great for posture, grace and pure diligence of practice. Later I became a modern dancer and then a ballroom dancer. Then I retired and was finished with dance, finally.
However, a few weeks ago I found my schedule accommodated an adult ballet class. So I began doing plies, tendues and fondues again. I remember all the French words, the body language, and the traditional order of exercises perfectly, as those who practiced a sport must keep it deep in their muscles. But my body cramps up terribly, and I’m deathly afraid of injuring myself, with good reason. I am very old to be doing this. The teacher is sweet and tolerant of me.
It’s weird how life can circle back on you, no?

Friday, January 11, 2008

Golden Teeth

















I’ve been having teeth problems. I guess you get to a certain age…
Years ago I was in a dance performance and fell on stage, smashing my teeth together. I remember thinking, wow, I would have chopped my tongue off if it had been in the way. Later I had developed terrible headaches, which a quack doctor in LA decided I needed some kind of electronic therapy to fix. No, I needed a root canal.
Fast forward some years, and the tooth above also needs a crown. So recently one of these two crowns seems to be loose, but I can’t feel which one. I go to my new charming dentist, and he says, no, the problem is a different tooth, which also needs a crown. Chi-ching.
Fine, I have all my crowns in a row, and am eating licorice, and off pops the oldest crown, which I quickly put back in place. The kicker is that night I also get the stomach flu. As my head is in the toilet I’m praying, please don’t let the crown come off again now.
Double triple YUCK!

Saturday, December 01, 2007

December

















The dreaded holiday season is all of a sudden upon us. You can’t ignore it when you have kids. Last year was easier: no relatives around, Moslem country, my new life not yet started. Now I’m a bit paralyzed. Need to shop and organize and knit and decorate and cook and finish my semester and tend to my family. Yikes.
I’m going skating.

Monday, August 27, 2007

Corrupting Forces at Work

















Recently I’ve come in close contact with some lovely Southern ladies who have been helping us out. They are very religious and bring their Bible studies with them to work. One of them looked askance at my coffee drinking habit the other morning; she has not yet been here when we break out the scotch. (In fact, we are family that still honors the cocktail hour, occasionally for some, regularly for others.) So there are cultures among us as exotic as Turks to yabancis.
later... Today my new friend asked for coffee! One part coffee, three parts water, but still!

Sunday, August 19, 2007

Piano Lessons

















Did you know, I play the piano. Classical. In Turkey I didn’t have access to one, and now that I’m back in SoCal, my favorite piano is here for me, a lovely baby grand that has always been so comforting. I play mainly Bach, because I like how soothing it is, how mathematical and precise, the different voices switching between hands, overlapping. When my brother died a few years ago, it was Bach that got me through those first terrible days and nights.
So you see, cultured wench that I am, I was born in the wrong century; I should have been a Jane Austen babe, with how I draw and play music. No needlepoint, though. Maybe knitting counts?
Kid.01 is taking piano lessons. He’s ahead of the game with the year of music lessons (mostly recorder) he had in Turkey. I hope he continues; music is so important for the mind, and I credit my diligent piano practicing through my early teens with much of my subsequent academic success (thanks Mom!). I would like a jazz-baby though, a musical form I could never even approach.

Saturday, August 04, 2007

Auto Dreams

















I’m past the mini van stage. I thought a small hatchback, like what most people drive in Turkey, would be fine, but in a way that would be returning to my college days, when I drove a bright orange Mazda GLC. So when a luxury car came up, and I drove it for a few days, I fell in love… Notice the San Pellegrino I’m drinking in SoCal traffic…

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Bitte

















I have only three days left in this country I love. Everyone asks me why I’m leaving and when I will come back. I say “Inshallah,” God willing. But in truth I don’t know when I’ll be back.
Yesterday was a religious holiday. Someone told me it was three months before the start of Ramadan. Another told me it is the conception of Mohammed. The streets were deserted, except for a herd of painted sculptural cows that has invaded My Anatolian City. I packed, I painted well, I cleaned out my office, I shade-bathed in my new bikini at a ladies-and-kids-only pool party. I delivered a wedding present, a painting, to my newly married girlfriend and her man (as their first guest, they proudly showed me their apartment, each room with a different color scheme, and served tea).
My internet connection at home is finished and I feel a bit cut off. I had to return my cute new clothes (that’s why I’m playing Lady Godiva in photo above…) And I’m eating the rest of my chocolate stash. In short, I am saying good-bye.

Monday, July 16, 2007

One Week Left

Although I now feel ready to leave, I still have much to say about Turkey and my expat experience here. So I’m going to continue kloeamongtheturks for a while, and also talk about re-entry into American life.
I’m cleaning one room at a time; office, kids’ rooms, and living room are done. I need to see lots of friends this week, finish my paintings, give away all the art supplies and books in my office, drink the rest of my raki. I need to pack, and it looks like it’ll be expensive taking back some of my artwork, but wtf, I’m an artist, I never travel light.
I’ve written some posts that I haven’t published cause I thought them harsh, but maybe now’s the time. So here goes one:

















Lest I Make Turkey Seem too Good to be True
Let me assure you, this is a third world, or more politically correct, developing country (photo is of a porcelain factory in Kutahya).
Where women are second-class citizens.
Where domestic violence is rampant.
Where the handicapped, mentally and physically, are kept at home by their families and there are almost no facilities to accommodate those with special needs.
Where people throw trash in the streets and rivers.
Where people smoke like chimneys and don’t care who breathes their second-hand smoke.
Where people drive like maniacs, few wear seatbelts, and pedestrians have no rights.
Where who gets the job depends on who you know.
Where unemployment is very high.
Where education often equals memorization.
Where intellectuals are assassinated.
Where there is no safety net.
Where you are old at 60.
Where many people feel trapped in their lives, with no way to start over.
Where women who experience sexual pleasure may be considered whores.
Where superstition reigns.
Where there are few gays or blacks or anyone openly different.
Where you don’t rock the fucking boat.

And for Fairness Sake, SoCal:
Where we consume ten times more than we need.
Where we produce mountains of trash.
Where we drive huge cars that drink gasoline.
Where the rich are so rich and the poor are poorer than the poorest Turks.
Where kids grow up way too fast.
Where kids graduate from high school barely able to read or think.
Where murders and kidnappings and rapes happen every day in every community.
Where public transportation is poor.
Where youth, physical beauty, and wealth are worshipped.
Where the elderly are disrespected.
Where racism is just below the surface of daily life.
Where we want to colonize every other country.
Where we arrogantly believe everyone else in the world wants to be just like us.

Friday, June 15, 2007

Countdown

















Tonight we were with doctor friends, attending another dinner in a series of farewell parties. It was good to be out and among interesting people, because I was feeling a bit anxious and down. I am about to be alone; my family is leaving Turkey. We finished a wonderful Turkish meal with walnut and pistachio baklava on ice cream.
It is raining and I’m packing up small clothes, report cards and a few indispensable toys. Today was also the last day of school for Turkish kids. Apparently everyone cried.
Happy Bday M.

Friday, May 11, 2007

Living with Less

















Doesn’t affect quality of life.
I have fewer pans and kitchen gadgets, but can still make a dinner party.
Fewer art supplies are available in the stores, but I am making lots of art.
I have fewer clothes, but only the ones I really like and fit me.
The kids have fewer toys, but still find things to play with, and possibly play more creatively.
In my Turkish home I am surrounded by fewer books, magazines, artworks, furniture, plants, tools, adult toys, cars, mail (actually there is NO mail delivery), STUFF. And it’s a relief.

Monday, April 30, 2007

Remember Books?

















I am so bleeding discouraged by the novels I’ve been reading here in Turkey; they just can’t hold me like a good, to-the-point blog post can. Granted, I brought only what I thought were “classics” from a used bookstore. I got through a minor Margaret Drabble, slogged through Indiana by George Sand, am now in the midst of Main Street by Sinclair Lewis (the other Carrie story, Sister Carrie by Theodore Dreiser, is devastating, this one is just annoying).
Have been trying to finish Snow by Orhan Pamuk for months. The novel is maddening, and I haven’t met a single person who could finish it. You already know the writer/Pamuk will be assassinated, you had the climatic massacre in the theater in the first half of the book--basically there are no surprises because this is such a self conscious novel he tells you everything before in occurs. Except--now I find out he loses the love of his life due to jealousy he feels toward her previous lover??? No, a writer can’t compare with a sexy blue-eyed revolutionary, but just take what you can get, Sad-Sack! And this was the Nobel Prize getter. Jeesh!
Two consolations:
North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell. Wonderful. Check out the BBC miniseries for one of THE most beautiful men on the planet.
And Harry Potter IV, a few pages each night with Kid.01.