I’m finding my aversion to holidays is less strong in Turkey. Partially, it’s because I’m not overwhelmed with teaching and toting kids around and always craving more time in every day; therefore, spending hours prepping only to undo that prep work a short time later feels, well, less pissy-offy in this year of expansive time and drifty days. Even more, I have enjoyed the holidays this year because they often feel like our best touchstones to the culture back home–and apparently my contrarian self has to be out of the culture to feel any desire to honor it. As well, the fact that we’ve spent every major holiday with our great friend Elaine (“Ileyn”) and her two kids has, most likely, been the principal reason I’ve not railed against the special days. Elaine is an elementary school teacher, and she adores holidays, so in the face of her theme-based energy and boundless enthusiasm, I am powerless. She’s excited? The kids are excited? There’s wine in the fridge to drink after it’s all over?
Okay. If that’s the case, I’m good. Stuff that turkey. Deck them halls. Dye them eggs. Fill my glass.
Easter was a blast of dyeing, hunting, eating, sack and spoon racing…all carried out in a setting that was nothing, if not Once In A Lifetime.
Added bonus: our friend Jim was visiting, and although he isn’t a kid person necessarily, he was an unflappable sport who even picked up the two-year-old a few times, calling out, “Do you see me with a toddler? I’m watching a toddler. You can make it stop any time.”