Writing in the mornings. Preparing cardamom spiced espressos in the Italian percolator. Cereal breakfasts before making the rounds in town. Sheltering a black kitten from certain death then sweating awake from nightmares where she’s speaking to you because you suddenly you discover she has some skin diseases and it's not a good idea to touch her.
An occasional morning movie with Serkan. Reading too late into the night yet not enough to make a dent in the list. Retaking to Turkish studies in the midafternoon shine when the kitchen is lightest. When nobody’s around to listen to the noise. Often drown out by the neighbor who washes, manhandles and vrooms his red 1980s hotrod...every day. Back and forth, back and forth, vroom vroom in his driveway as reggaeton booms from his dinky subwoofer, rattling the doors of his baby and--on Saturdays--shaking the windows here.
Hunting for land with friends and coming home with a kilo of the sweetest strawberries this side of the equator and one more blondie kitten. Stumbling upon a woodworker’s dream. A house found lost in Puerto Natales where every single log has been worked, carved, glossed, each stair, floorboard, piece of furniture, shelf, counter a piece of art. A sauna and two hot tub mini-houses, landscaping even and planted trees. Houses like this don’t exist here. But there is one, which you can buy from the lonesome woodcraftsman wolf whose family left him or is waiting for him (oh who knows for sure it’s a long story) up north.
In other real news my dear friend Tim is coming to visit us in mid-February. And I just made my first jam ever! Red currant with strawberry. We’ll see how it firms up and cools tomorrow. Tim can let everyone know if it was any good or not on the other side. The kittens, by the way, are named Jules and Rome.
An occasional morning movie with Serkan. Reading too late into the night yet not enough to make a dent in the list. Retaking to Turkish studies in the midafternoon shine when the kitchen is lightest. When nobody’s around to listen to the noise. Often drown out by the neighbor who washes, manhandles and vrooms his red 1980s hotrod...every day. Back and forth, back and forth, vroom vroom in his driveway as reggaeton booms from his dinky subwoofer, rattling the doors of his baby and--on Saturdays--shaking the windows here.
Hunting for land with friends and coming home with a kilo of the sweetest strawberries this side of the equator and one more blondie kitten. Stumbling upon a woodworker’s dream. A house found lost in Puerto Natales where every single log has been worked, carved, glossed, each stair, floorboard, piece of furniture, shelf, counter a piece of art. A sauna and two hot tub mini-houses, landscaping even and planted trees. Houses like this don’t exist here. But there is one, which you can buy from the lonesome woodcraftsman wolf whose family left him or is waiting for him (oh who knows for sure it’s a long story) up north.
In other real news my dear friend Tim is coming to visit us in mid-February. And I just made my first jam ever! Red currant with strawberry. We’ll see how it firms up and cools tomorrow. Tim can let everyone know if it was any good or not on the other side. The kittens, by the way, are named Jules and Rome.
