Silke and Me

Me and Silke, May 2007

It's been too long since I wrote about my friends. Because I love this photo and I love this woman, I'm taking time to introduce Silke. Silke (silk-uh) is German, but she lived in Ireland so long you wouldn't know her origins (this has led to embarrassment for several racist Irishmen).

Silk and I lived together in France in 2001 and 2002. I taught her how to make fluffernutter sandwiches, she taught me French, German and the art of swearing someone into the ground. Silke is a genius. She's a quadralingual encyclopedia. She pulls obscure facts from a cranny in the back of her brain and stuns people into silence. Silke is my favorite friend to grab a beer with. She's the person I would bring with me on a deserted island. She's the name I write at the beginning of every journal entry.

Even after years of being friends, I admit that I get nervous when I feel myself creeping into a debate with Silke. I used to find myself sinking to the "f you" level of debating. Now I resign myself to saying, "Silke, I'd love to continue this discourse, but I need to go read books first. New topic." Our debates have ranged from the legendary (what Marx and Weber meant to sociology) to the more, um, mundane (is 'blow-job' the best way to describe Shakira?). Our biggest blow-out came on the heels of an argument about Michael Jackson's contribution to American pop culture. Neither of us can remember who chose which side, but we did sit in seperate rooms for awhile after that.

A debacle in '03 involved Silke's observations of the American "adoption" of French culture. I got so angry, I nearly threw her out the window. "We are not trying to be French. You've gone too far, Silke. That's just mean." And yet, years later, in a cafe in the middle of England we took this picture and emblazoned across my neckline is the word, "PARIS."

Ah, Sweet Silk, I think you've won again. Maybe I'll get you next time. Until then, I'll keep reading...

xo

Shannon

Whirling Dervishes

The Whirling Dervishes believe that spinning while meditating is the purest way to connect to God. Rumi, a poet and philospher, founded the dervishes in Konya, Turkey. The whirling ceremony shown below is called a Sema.



The clothes dervishes wear symbolize several things. The hat symbolizes the tombstone of their egos. The dress symbolizes shroud of their ego. The black cloak they wear at the beginning of the ceremony symbolizes their worldly tombs (these cloaks, shown below, are removed before the ceremony starts).







I went to see the ceremony in Istanbul with Jonathan and Jenny and Alex a month ago. Honestly, some of the dervishes looked as though they would faint. They spun, non-stop, for 15 minute intervals and all you could hear was the whooshing of their clothes. They turned their hands upward and arched their heads sideways as a reverence to God. To me, it just looked painful.

Naturally, Jonathan and Jenny (my accountant friends) were comparing number of rotations among each dervish. I worried they may vomit on us or pass out. Alex sat back and enjoyed the show.

Hope this better explains the ceremony for "J" and everyone else. Please, if you make a comment, post your name or at least some initials so I know who you are.

Shannon

More from Mike and Renee's Visit

A view of our hotel in Torba, a town in southern Turkey. That's Renee on the left.


This is Mike and a Greek theatre mask at the underwater Archaeology Museum in Bodrum, Turkey.


Men not wanted.

The kids I teach

Earlier this month marked the last day of school for kids at Christ Church, where I teach. Because of a lack of funding (and other problems), the school may not open next year. I'm trying to think of brilliant solutions. Ideas accepted. Volunteers willing to help run a school full-time also accepted.

Here are a few pictures of the kids - refugees from Southeast Asia, the Middle East and Africa. Below are Sarujen (center) and Deeb (right), who I have been working with since January. When I gave them some summer reading, Sarujen asked for extra books because "I don't want to forget stuff in summer." This is the face he makes when he wins a game of Bingo. This is also the face he made when I gave him a yo-yo for being a spelling ace.

Here is a photo of Sarujen and I, taken by Deeb (who begged and pleaded to play with the camera). Notice the lack of enthusiasm in Sarujen's face. Come to find out, it's very uncool to smile with your teacher when you're an 8-year-old boy.

These are two girls who came mid-way through the year. The girl on the left wouldn't speak when she first showed up. Now she has trouble staying quiet. The girl on the right loves to model her hair accessories. They are opening a bag of goodies sent by my Grandmother.

And this is where I taught. That table served as our "classroom".

Hope the summer is treating everyone well! Istanbul is in full bloom and looks beautiful.

xo,

Shannon

My brother and his wife visit

My brother Mike (who regularly made me pee in my pants with laughter growing up) and Renee (his rockin wife and my close friend) came to visit for a couple weeks recently. The three of us road tripped up the Aegean coast stopping at sites in Bodrum, Pamukkale, Ephesus and Dalyan. Here they are in Ephesus...

and this is immediately after Renee convinced Mike to jump in the Aegean- it was chilly and McMahons don't like chill...

and this marks our first- but not last- encounter with Russian tourists (this is especially for Ana, my favorite Russian) Three cheers for miniskirts!...

and this is a shot in the Basilica Cistern in Istanbul. (I told them to stand still while I left the shutter open. I neglected to tell them when to stop standing still but eventually started laughing so the joke ended.)

I have roughly 12397358974305 pictures from our trip, so I'll post more soon.

To Mike and Renee- thanks for one of the most memorable and enjoyable trips I've ever taken. Is there anything better than discovering that you travel well with people you love? I don't think so. Let's do it again!

xo

Shannon