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Once again, I haven’t been able to write for a few days. Unfortunately, whenever the weekend gets in the way and everyone in the household is at home, everything gets completely mixed up.
My son had his Open Education Faculty exams over the weekend. Although he insists that his exams went well, I can’t exactly say that I believe him. We’ll see when the results come out whether it’s all white or all black!
On Saturday, I was supposedly going to the market—at least, that was the plan according to anyone who asked. And yes, of course, I actually did go.
Early in the morning, I got annoyed with my husband. Apparently, there were some cucumbers in the village, and he wanted to know why I was going to buy them from the market. By the time we finally reached an agreement, the weather had already heated up. I said we needed to ask my mother first, and I also said that, in my opinion, there weren’t nearly as many cucumbers as he seemed to think. As it turned out, I was right.
But who am I explaining this to?
He doesn’t believe anything until he hears it for himself. Still, it worked out well because his mother said the same thing: there were only enough cucumbers there for them to eat while they were in the village.
And this is the part I really don’t understand. If there wasn’t that much produce, why on earth did everyone make such a big fuss about it in the first place?
His older sister had gone out of town for her grandchild’s wedding. While she was away, she apparently called my husband and gave him an earful about why we hadn’t gone into the garden and picked cucumbers, tomatoes, and so on.
And what was the final result?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
We were left standing there with empty hands and empty pockets.
Then, when I point this out, they tell me, “You complain too much.”
Well, what am I supposed to do, my friends?
If someone behaves as though we have just harvested an entire field, only to turn around later and say, “There really wasn’t that much,” am I supposed to congratulate them and sing a song instead of complaining?
Honestly, I swear, you can’t make a proper cacık out of these people.
They do nothing except push a person toward sin, and somehow we end up being the bad ones.
On Saturday evening, my husband went to the village. I didn’t want to go, and I had already made that very clear both to my husband and, over the past few days, separately to my parents.
In a way, this illness has actually worked in my favor.
While everyone else is eating and drinking whatever they want, I would have to take my own food with me and then sit there watching everyone else. And frankly, I don’t enjoy that at all.
If I’m going to take my own food with me anyway, I might as well sit at home and eat it.
What would I even be doing in the village?
And apparently my older sister-in-law was going to be there too. I really don’t have the energy to listen to her ridiculous conversations or her endless, made-up stories about being ill.
It’s already hot.
I can barely tolerate myself in this heat.
There is no way I can tolerate her as well.
The tenant in our shop was planning to transfer the business because of health reasons, and apparently he had found someone to take it over. My husband went and met with them, and they reached an agreement.
Yesterday, while dealing with the new contract and all the paperwork, our brains practically melted in the heat.
They seem like good people. May God help them, bless their work, and grant them good and prosperous business on this blessed day.
For almost ten months now, I haven’t been cooking proper home-style meals in a pot.
Because I don’t eat them, the rest of the household has practically stopped eating vegetables too. And if I’m being completely honest, they were only eating vegetables before because I insisted on it.
However, during this period, I can proudly say that I have specialized in oven cooking.
Every kind of meat, chicken, and fish is carefully prepared in the oven using different methods.
Today, once again, I have lamb neck cooking in the oven.
I prepared it in a way similar to a traditional tandır.
May God help our electricity meter.
It has been cooking for hours.
But what can I do?
I don’t like boiled or stewed meat cooked in a pot, so what choice do I have?
As a result, my relationship with the oven has become increasingly intense.
In fact, I can honestly say that we are having a very special love affair.
There are actually many other things I should be telling you about, but in this heat, this is about all I can manage today.
Right now, I’m going to eat something and then continue reading my book.
I simply don’t have the energy to write anymore, and I am extremely hungry.
But I cannot finish today’s entry without adding one more thing.
On Friday, my friend B., who sees me as if I were a human garbage bin, called me.
And I gave her a proper piece of my mind.
Without shouting.
Without raising my voice.
Very politely.
Very calmly.
I will tell you all about that tomorrow.
But I have to admit something:
It felt incredibly good to get it all off my chest.
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