Friday, July 28, 2017

Addiction:Ertugrul




13 th. century Anatolia.

The Kayis are on the move, seeking fertile land to settle and raise their herds, a place their people can call home. Suleyman Shah, the tribe’s leader, and his wife, Haime Hatun, have four sons. The eldest is missing, feared dead. The next is an upstanding guy, a stickler for rules, a bit of a stuffed shirt. The third son is Ertugrul, brave and fearless, a born leader, willing to risk the approval of the tribe and of his family for what he knows to be the way forward for all of them. The forth son is still young, a warrior in training.

Life is precarious on the Steppes. The Kayis are beset with threats – Crusaders to the west, Mongols to the east, enemy infiltrators worming their way into trusted positions within the tribe – no shortage of clashing swords or accurately aimed arrows. Who can you trust?


 They long for a land of their own and a peaceful life.

Of the two middle sons, the stuffed shirt seems destined to be the law enforcer. Ertugrul, though he doesn’t seek power and importance, with his vision, will likely take his father’s place as head of the tribe. Meanwhile, he and his three most faithful ‘alps’ take care of hunting, protection of the tribe from their enemies and training of the younger warriors.


21st. century - 2017, Florida.

It is hot and muggy. No threats from marauding Mongols or bloodthirsty Crusaders. Our biggest worries are a new president who is not presidential, but mercifully far away in Washington, and mosquitoes who are right here and hungry.
  One evening in June the OC happens on a show on Netflix. Not much of a television fan, I am nevertheless drawn to sit and watch awhile. ‘Resurrection: Ertugrul’ is the title. The next evening he turns it on again. Drawn as by a magnet, I sit and watch. Three episodes. Next evening, the same. And so it went, for a month. Serious addiction. How did that happen? Me, who has always viewed soap operas with disdain, addicted to a show with definite soap opera overtones?


13 th. century Anatolia.

 Ertugrul is out riding one day with his three faithful Alps, Turgut, Bamsi and Dogan. They come upon a man and his son and daughter being abducted under suspicious circumstances. Swords are drawn, a battle ensues and, in true hero style, they fend off the villians, rescue the family and bring them back to their tribe’s settlement. The man  turns out to be a Seljuk prince. His young son is Yigit (whom we fondly call Eegit, for our inability to wrap our tongues around the correct Turkish pronunciation) and his beautiful daughter is Halime, simplified by the OC for American consumption to “Holly-Mae.”

This sets the stage for a never-ending saga. We’ve watched the first two seasons and I’m in serious withdrawal as it will be a while before season three is available. The show reminds me of tales, learned long ago in school, of good against evil, of Cuchullain, the Hound of Ulster, Oisin, Niamh and Tir na nOg and other stories from Irish mythology.


21st. Century, 2017, Florida

Hugely intrigued by the total abandon with which I’ve immersed myself  in this story, I

said as much to some friends one day at lunch. We're talking serious addiction here.They looked at me and – both together, with ‘Duh!’ undertones - said “Because you were there!” 


Seriously? Could it be? They were not joking. They were almost matter-of-fact, almost "how-could-you-not -figure-that-out-for-yourself?" Educated women with their feet on the ground and lifetimes of experience.


Temporarily suspending my skepticism, I’ve been entertaining that possibility.  Maybe that is why the show appeals to me on such a gut level.  Maybe the universe is the biggest recycler of all and I have been there in a previous life. It epitomizes so many things that resonate with me. First of all is the feeling of community and continuity, how everyone in the tribe pulls together; how members of the tribe know, and live, with the same group of people from birth to the grave. Secondly, the pace of modern life is too fast for me. A walking pace would suit me just fine. Horseback would work. I wouldn't be as skittish as I am if I'd been born to it! I love how their lives are ruled by honor, integrity, bravery and respect for their traditions, along with generous helpings of skullduggery, backstabbing traitors, evil plotters and scheming women. All of human life. There is romance too, conveyed in an understated way that doesn’t make me squirm in my chair or turn me into a Peeping Tom. I like that in a show.


And, wonder of wonders, I haven’t heard one of the four letter words that are so liberally sprinkled throughout most American TV shows. Directors of our shows seem to believe that foul language is cool and essential for good ratings. Ertugrul is in Turkish so I can't say for sure, but, it doesn’t show up in the sub titles! I’m fine with that too.


The Kayi women weave and spin, appliqué and embroider. Their beautiful textiles and rugs are in high demand for trading at the caravansaries. Their yurts are insulated with animal skins and richly woven tapestries. The costumes are stunning, the colors brilliant, the womens' beaded headdresses works of art, the theme music divine. All of which, for me, was a feast for the eyes, but I’m sure it was the sword fights, of which there were many, that kept the OC tuning in, along with heavy doses of political intrigue. 

 In the modern world, though I’m a believer in trusting people until, and unless, they prove themselves untrustworthy, it is becoming more and more difficult to tell the good guys from the bad. Paris, London, Brussels, Istanbul, Manchester….We were horrified by 9/11 but now we’re accustomed to horror. Where will it end? What kind of world will we leave for our grandchildren?

Maybe it’s a longing for transparency and honesty in our politicians. Maybe we could send them on a journey back in time where, along with sword fighting, Ertugrul and his alps could school them in honor, service, integrity, and the like, not to mention horsemanship!


Maybe it’s escapism, a thirst for good, rollicking, old fashioned stories. Maybe it’s a naïve belief that we may still have heroes among us who will save us from the villains. A quote from my current read says it best……

‘In my perception, the world wasn’t a graph or formula or an equation.
It was a story.’


It is a story.

Roll on season three!  

Thursday, July 20, 2017

Fredrik Backman Was Here





 Fredrik Backman first drifted into my line of vision last Christmas when oldest daughter and I were lazing  on the beach, discussing books. You have to read A Man Called Ove, she said, and promised to send it to me as soon as she and her boys were done with it.

Meantime, I found it at the library and read it myself. It was more than a little crazy but I enjoyed it. Then one day, checking the shelves at my favourite 'bookstore' (the local St. Vincent de Paul thrift shop) I found My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She's Sorry - brand new, a bargain at 99c. Added it to the teetering pile where it sat until last week when I tucked Grandmother into my bag as we set out for South Carolina.

 Fourteen year old grandson's baseball team was playing there in a week-long tournament. They were making a road trip and some beach time out of it and we planned to meet them and see all the games and marvel at daughter's new, short, hairstyle and at how the boys had grown.



Baseball has always mystified me, almost as much as its cousin, cricket. But, by the end of the week, I was cheering with the best of them though (shh!) I have to admit that, embarassingly, I was sometimes cheering for the other team. A good hit's a good hit, right? And a good run's a good run. They're just kids after all, even if they are taller than us!

Back in our room in the evenings I started the book. And was totally captivated. More so than with Ove though I loved him too, just maybe not quite as much as daughter who admitted she had still not finished Ove. Seriously? Since Christmas?  "I just didn't want it to end!" she explained. I could understand that. Those are the best kind of books!

Grandmother's cast of characters was even zanier and the plot more bizarre. I couldn't put it down. The boys were off on the beach with team mates and frisbees between games, so no one minded when this grandmother opted to not go down and get blistered on the beach, but to sit overlooking it from the blissful shade of their balcony.




The younger folks dipped in the water and rolled in the sand and basted themselves in sunscreen....
which I used to think was grand when I was their age but, decades later, with an uneasy, ongoing relationship with a dermatologist, my enthusiasm is somewhat diminished. The beach in December is one thing, the beach in July quite another.

The pages kept turning and, when we found Backman's third book,"Britt-Marie Was Here," on a bookstore prowl, they started turning even faster so I could leave Grandmother with daughter and take Britt-Marie home, with promises to send her north as soon as done. Grandmother was a rollicking read and I didn't want it to end. Daughter may be onto something....

 Our team didn't win but they played well and had fun.



They won this one, obviously!

Younger g'randson is a tennis and lacrosse man but stayed busy all week helping out with the team, reading and relaxing between times!




And now we are home. I have just finished reading Britt-Marie and I have to agree with the blurb on the cover. It's his 'truest, most satisfying book to date.' Peopled with oddballs and misfits, you find yourself laughing uncontrollably one minute, close to tears the next. As lighthearted as the books seem though, it would be a mistake to dismiss them as flippant. The profound wisdom between the lines catches you by surprise. The theme running through all of Backman's writing is about how we should live our lives - with  compassion and passion.

'....passion is worth something, not for what it gives us but for what it demands that we risk. Our dignity. The puzzlement of others and their condescending, shaking heads.' (Britt-Marie Was Here, P.262')

As much as I wanted Britt-Marie to go on forever, I did finish it, cheered by the fact that Backman's latest book was published in April. I already have it on hold at the library.

Thursday, July 06, 2017

A Photo for Sabine





Sabine, I wanted to put this photo in the comments for your most recent post but, having very spartan technological skills, I have to put it here instead. I took this while prowling around in the graveyard at St. Mary's cathedral in my hometown one afternoon in the summer of 2012. It's one of my favourite quotes and I thought it was very fitting for the lady in question.



While I'm at it, I thought I'd include a few more photos from that afternoon. I'm missing home particularly this summer as Florida is hellaciously hot and humid, more so than other summers, and I can't imagine, at the moment, a pleasure greater than having to wear long trousers  and several thin layers of clothing in July rather than wondering (in Florida) if anyone would be offended if I just went shopping in the all-together.






We had come to the cathedral that afternoon to hear a recital by a choir from Cambridge University.....











I had to include the bridge as I love how those plants found a few footholds and went to town!

Those words carved in stone made for a better comment than anything I could say. I hope you continue to enjoy your garden for the rest of the summer - in civilised summer weather.