A healing Nature

Füsun Atalay © 2008

I'm now a full- fledged empty nester since my son and daughter have flown the coop to seek their fortunes around the world and my husband has decided to follow his, with another woman. So, since last January, Beowulf, my cat has been my sole companion through the long, cold and seemingly eternal winter.

Despite his name, Beowulf is a very friendly and affectionate domestic tiger who sleeps at the foot of my bed and lies on guard at the door whenever I take my showers. Pets, nevertheless, are a different kind of 'children' to whom we divert all our affections in the absence of our own.


I ponder on Khalil Gibran's words:

“Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.”

Naturally, there comes that time in life to let our children fulfill Life's longing for itself. If we have done a fairly good job in raising them, they'll come back to us and to the unconditional love we carry for them.

A life partner's departure, on the other hand, is not as readily acceptable- especially when there's no rhyme or reason any poet or philosopher can explain. So we call such events mid-life crisis, marital-breakdown or downright betrayal.

I was getting tired of living as a betrayed wife when Life presented me with its will to go on through nature. The jasmine-scented mock orange blossoms outside the front door, the heady perfume of lilacs in the backyard, the greening of new grass made me realize that life goes on and I have to keep pace.

Last Sunday I found a dazed, young bird at my doorstep. It couldn't fly in spite of desperate attempts. I knew that it would be fair game for the neighborhood cats and took him in. Since I don’t have a bird cage - I placed him in Beowulf's pet taxi― the carrying case we use when Beowulf goes to his veterinary visits. I gave him water, flax and sesame seeds, a few grapes and a furry toy.


Nursing a fragile, helpless creature back to health with loving words and soothing music, as well as nourishment and care evoke nostalgic feelings in me. I don't know much about birds, but searching on the Internet, I discovered that this was a baby starling with a black mark on his bill (as opposed to pink) indicating that he is a male. Beowulf and I decided to name our battered guest, Billy


Beowulf was joyous and curious like a toddler who just got a baby brother ; and wanted to play with him immediately. I had to be watchful that he didn't topple the pet taxi or reach in too far with his claws and harm Billy. Yet watching his feline curiosity and the wonder on his face, the futile attempts of his cat reasoning, his question-laden "meow"s brought me much laughter and amusement -something I haven't had for a while.
When I met my husband, he was like Billy: lost, battered and ruffled, albeit not by flying into a wall but by its equivalent in human terms. During our life together he did find love, happiness, trust; and regained his self-confidence and self-esteem through my unconditional love and nurturing. Once he could hold up his head and put a past he hid from me behind, he didn't seem to need me any more and took off leaving behind a few feathers ― souvenirs of his existence. This is not the way it was supposed to be, but life doesn’t always turn out the way we plan and hope it will.

Letting Bill, the love of my life, go has been very painful and difficult.

Letting Billy, the bird, go should be easier. I'll take care of him until he too heals, and then I'll set him free into his own world and mingle with his peers among the mulberry branches or feast on the ripening fruits in my backyard. I've always had a spot for birds, because for me birds symbolize not only a delicate vulnerability, but also a much coveted freedom and soaring of the spirit.


My Father used to call me 'Saint Füsun of Brossard' after Saint Francis of Assisi, the patron Saint of birds, for I always leave food out for them in winter and summer.

Birds can ascend in a heartbeat and command a 'bird's eye' view of life; they see what I cannot. They are beautiful, fragile, sing joyful songs and soothe my soul. But they are vulnerable in spite of their free, independent, restless spirits. They give without knowing : the mulberry tree whose fruits and tall beauty I enjoy from the window when I write at my desk is a gift from the birds- a seed dropped right there from a bill- and that grew into a tree bearing edible fruit ! So is the grapevine that has been growing along the fence and whose leaves I have harvested many times to make delicious wine leaves stuffed with rice, pine nuts, cinnamon and mint.

* * * * * *

Billy regained his health last Friday. I could almost taste his yearning to try his wings again and discover the blue skies. Beowulf, during this time had turned from a feline with hunter instincts into a protective older brother. Or maybe he made me believe that because I never left the two unsupervised. In any case, it was time to let go ― once more...

With Beowulf following my every step, I carried the pet taxi to the back yard and opened the metal grid door. Billy paused briefly. Then, like a plane soaring into the vast skies, he took off and alighted on the tip of a pine branch where two larger starlings joined him immediately. Briefly after, all three flew into a glorious sunset, while Beowulf turned into a typical feline once again and dashed after them. But I knew he’d never catch up to them, and Billy would be fine now.


Billy is back !

Billy (the bird) is back! A day after I released it, I saw Beowulf and Al (an all- white street cat I named Al-short for Algarth) playing in the backyard. Now, these two usually hiss at each other, but this time they were behaving like two hockey players on the same team chasing after a puck ! Well, the puck turned out to be Billy, trying to hop to safety for his delicate life. I was thunderstruck ! I dropped everything (including a slipper) and stormed out. Beowulf had purposely turned deaf to my admonishments and raced me to the raspberry bush where Billy made one final hop and vanished among the leaves.

Instinct and desperation propelled me into the bushes groping for the battered creature. When I found it, his heart was racing with fear and its wing feathers were out of kilter. I felt terribly guilty for having released it prematurely, believing it would be alright. Perhaps I had acted out of my personal, wishful thinking rather than treading with reason. I could only pray that he would survive.

Billy has been recuperating ever since, and pecking at the mulberries I gather from the tree his ancestors bestowed in my yard. It has been a challenge to keep Beowulf away from his shelter; but these are the kind of challenges which bring me happiness.

There's rain in the night air and the International Fireworks have started. I hear their boom at a distance from my open window through which waft in floral fragrances from my Chinese neighbor's yard. Beowulf is back from his night's outing, getting ready for his deep slumber after chasing birds and butterflies all day. Billy is safe and slowly recovering. I feel I'm ready to retire myself with a book and some music until my eyelids feel heavy with sleep.

When I lay down my book and turn off the lights, I'll thank for all the things I have and say a prayer for the battered Billies of the world.

Not long ago, I was one of them.


Copyrighted material ! All rights belong to Füsun Atalay ~ Copyright © 2008

Crossroads

Füsun Atalay © 2008 Copyright

Most people celebrate their wedding anniversaries with flowers, champagne, dinner and special gifts. I celebrated mine with a new car in exchange for the one whose lease was not up for yet another year.

Because my husband and I are in a divorce process since the beginning of the year, despite the gamut of emotions and grief I've lived through, I’ve been trying to accept reality for what it is. Thus, I decided to mark that special day we once celebrated like most loving couples do, in a very different manner this year.

The 2005 burgundy car was full of memories: Trips to the East Coast, driving through Atlantic Canada, boarding the Marine Atlantic ferry from North Sydney to Porte aux Basques, leaving the mainland behind, driving for hours on rugged Newfoundland terrain to reach our ‘other’ home in St John’s, chasing icebergs, puffins and whales... Countless trips to Grimsby, ON, to visit his ailing father and his brother and family who live in nearby Smithville. . . Millions of places in Montréal where we left our footprints and echoes of happy memories. . .

That's why I decided to part with the 2005 burgundy car before its lease was up.

As the saying goes, it’s always more difficult for the one left behind to cope with the memories, and silence the ghosts of a past shared with a person- especially when that person was so special and the center of my world.

Separation, brought on by betrayal is not as final as a separation brought on by mortality, although it is more painful than the latter. We had promised to love and cherish and remain faithful till death did us part, but he forgot his promises and betrayed my love and trust. Then he coldly packed up and exited out of my life, expecting me to do the same. After nine years of unconditional devotion to him, I how could I pretend as if I never existed, so I chose not to go gently into that (good) night.

I have been trying to move forward with my life, however; and the idea of parting with the car we shared seemed like a bitter-sweet move in that direction. Symbolism aside, I had to consider my budget and think in terms of my needs, now that I didn’t have to accommodate his height and comfort. Downsizing while I kept the options to which I was accustomed, would mean slightly lower monthly lease payments for me.

On the day of the exchange that would mark the start of a new anniversary, I made another stop by my bank where I keep a safety deposit box with a few pieces of jewelry I own. Among them is a beautiful Harem ring I had picked up during one of my travels to Turkey. It’s made of three gold bands embedded with emeralds, rubies, sapphires and diamonds on top. The bands are attached to each other at the base so that they stay together.

My wedding ring had become loose around my finger since the separation. Like most of my clothes, it was too large and practically falling off my ring finger. It was time to put another reminder to rest. I placed my wedding and engagement rings into the safety box and retrieved my Harem ring which fit perfectly. As I placed it on the ring finger of my left hand, I made a wish - that its elegant and courtly beauty may be a daily reminder of brighter days in store.

Then I drove to pick up my new car. It was already on the dealer’s lot, bright and shiny, ready and waiting for its new owner Me ! That was a happy yet pausing moment, but the pause didn’t last long. I pulled up right beside my new car, and snapped a souvenir photo of the two next to each other the Past and the Future.

I've been accepting that I cannot live in the past. As life continues unfolding forward, I have no choice but to keep pace with it and turn towards the light as the sunflower turns towards its god throughout the day. The steps may be small at first, but like one learning to walk again after a major shock that paralyzed my limbs, I am determined to walk again and move on - one small step at a time.

My new car has already been instrumental in reinforcing this important realization. I've always driven cars with manual shift which allow me the freedom to change gears, down shift or stop on a dime, if necessary.

I am now into the first gear of my new journey. It doesn’t take long to shift into the second gear, but I'm in no hurry accelerate. Yet, I’m also looking forward to moving into the second, third, fourth and fifth gears as I advance on life’s uncharted roads; slowing occasionally to imbibe the scenery: the hills and the valleys; the flowers and the cloud formations; and be grateful for what I have as I move on further away from a past that was not meant to be a future - for me.

Füsun Atalay © 2008 Copyrighted material ~ All Rights belong to Füsun Atalay

The Hungry Man

a short story

by
Füsun Atalay Copyright © 2001

Nicole always felt uncomfortable when a beggar approached her . It was not that she minded giving whatever little change she carried with her, but it was rather the thought that there were people in the world who had to beg in order to eat their next meal which troubled her the most.

It was she who felt embarrassed as she handed a loony or the few quarters she carried in her pockets. Her friends called her a pushover betting that those who begged for money were probably richer than herself, or they were alcoholics who would just continue being one as long as gullible people like her supported them.

Nicole was torn; she did not like seeing people ask for spare change for food. On the other hand, she did not like the idea that she might be supporting someone's ruinous habit. Many times she had told herself that the next time someone asked her for spare change, she was going to say "No", but so far she had not been successful. She always gave the others the benefit of the doubt, and reasoned to herself that anyone who could muster up the courage to ask for change must have really needed it. After all, it must have been so humiliating to ask for money to buy food .

"How blessed I am to have a roof over my head and food on my table," she thought to herself, and always wondered what twist of fate or circumstance had brought people to beg.


Nicole was not rich herself, but she felt she was fortunate to have a steady employment and as long as she was frugal with her earnings, she would be alright. Her prudence won over the impulse to spend much time in the malls where she knew she might be tempted to buy items that she really did not need. She limited her shopping to what was on the lists she made before hand ; and was seen at the mall only during the seasonal clothing sales to replenish the aging pieces in her wardrobe.

She had one weakness, though : Good food.

The marketplace came alive with bursting flowers of every imaginable colour and beauty in March. Tulips, hyacinths, primroses and narcissus heralded the spring and Easter as early as late February. They were followed by flowers to mark Mothers' Day in May. Roses, azaleas, gardenias, hibiscus, carnations, terracotta arrangements of exotic cacti were the only ones she could identify.

In early June nursery boxes of violets and begonias; cosmos and impatients; marigolds and petunias were spread out as far as the eye could see. That was Nicole's favourite time, for it meant only the beginning of months of wholesome celebration of the bounty she felt she was blessed with.

Sometimes she went to the market not to buy anything, but just to watch the interaction among the people and the merchants. There was Gaetan, the fat butcher who always whispered a tune as he wrapped up meat in brown paper and weighed it. He had a habit of winking at pretty young women when his wife did not work in the shop.

Mrs Gaetan (Nicole did not know her name) was a character in her own right. Her flame red hair was always coiffed, with every strand glued in place with hair spray. She managed to keep her nails long and polished; and her waistline firm and thin. During the weekends, when she was in the shop, there was no question of who was the boss. Her presence would turn Gaetan into a silent, serious, and subservient man. He resembled more of a pigeon than a parrot on those occasions.

Nicole also loved to feast her eyes on the colourful arrangement of shiny apples, juicy grapes, spotless bananas; green zucchini, firm tomatoes, carrots, green and red peppers; fresh herbs, cartons of white or brown eggs, jars of honey and homemade preserves. There was everything at her market.

A bakery second to none, a fine food store that carried unique delicacies from all over the world, a cheese store with over a hundred kinds of cheese, butchers, and a coffee mill where she bought her coffee beans always freshly roasted. These simple pleasures were her bliss, her celebration of life. And when she felt so happy and blessed herself, how could she say "No," to someone whose only request from her was a little money because he had not eaten for a whole day?

One Saturday Nicole arranged to meet her friend Maria at the market bakery around noon to enjoy a cappuccino and chat for a while before they picked up a few items they needed. Maria had not been to the market for quite a long time and she was not aware of the metamorphosis it had gone through in the last three years.

Nicole arrived there a little earlier and parked her car. It was a sunny day and the sun melted most of the January snow . Even the birds, in their chants, were rejoicing the early spring feeling in the air . Nicole decided to stroll to the North end of the market towards the bakery which she had suggested as their meeting place.

She smiled as she passed by some of the merchants whom she had gotten to know so well by sight. They were her nameless friends who greeted her every time she went there and answered her questions about herbs or different types of honey . "It is the little joys that are so precious; yet we take so for granted in life," thought Nicole as she took the steps up leading to the bakery.

They should have named that place The Bee Hive instead of the First Harvest , since it was always bustling with people buying crusty loaves, and buttery croissants and pastries whose names were not even easy to pronounce let alone remember. Nicole knew that by three o'clock most of this bounty would be depleted down to the last mille feuille or the slightly crooked baguette which was not selected when there were so many better looking ones.

Just then her eyes met those of an elderly man who looked like he might be in his sixties or seventies. Nicole had never been good at guessing people's age. He approached her as if he were about to ask a question. He was fairly clean dressed except for a tattered, hand knitted blue and brown striped scarf that he had wrapped twice around his neck. He had possibly a day's stubble on his long, sombre face.


He put out his palm and asked, "Can you spare some change , miss? I haven't eaten since yesterday and I am hungry."

Nicole, who thought that he might have asked her a direction or perhaps the time was caught off guard by this request. A woman and a man, excusing themselves, hurriedly passed between them. The elderly man did not look like a vagabond but his blue eyes did have a hollow, hungry look in them.

"How can I say "No" standing in front of these fantastically tempting breads and cakes?" thought Nicole. Then, just as these thoughts were passing through her mind, another idea flashed through her.

"If you haven't eaten, how would you like to pick something from here and let me buy it for you?" she asked. At least this way she would be sure that the man would eat, and not drink her money.

He seemed astonished at first, as one would be at catching a sizable fish no sooner than he had cast his rod. Then he looked overwhelmed at the choices that were arrayed in the glass display in front of him. Danish pastries with glistening fruit fillings, lemon cakes, butter tarts, fruit pies, assorted sandwiches - the choice was enormous, but he was not picky.

"Something like that would be nice," he said pointing to a raspberry filled Danish pastry glazed with apricot jam. "And a coffee. Two milks and two sweeteners."

Nicole repeated the order to the young girl who asked if she had been served yet,and then turned around to the man to ask him if he wanted anything else. He had already seated himself on a chair at one of the round, glass topped cast iron tables and was fishing something out of the breast pocket of his worn-down jacket. He took out a pill box filled with blue, white and pink tablets and capsules. Pointing to it he announced, oblivious of other people, "I have to take nine of these every day. For my heart. I had two operations in the last two years."

Nicole was moved, but she did not know what to say. She had given change to beggars in the past and thought no more about it. The act was impersonal, innocuous, unattached to emotions. This time she felt herself taken into a stranger's confidence and exposed into his dismal world. It was an uncomfortable feeling most easily dealt by avoidance. Every time she handed a coin to an outstretched hand, was she in fact not asserting silently, "Here take this, and leave me alone. Spare me the details of your pathetic life"?

She hoped she was doing the right thing by following her instincts. She picked the tray with the coffee and the pastry, paid the girl who rang up the total, left the change next to the Styrofoam cup, and brought the food to the hungry man . "Enjoy it," she smiled. He looked happy and thanked her reiterating that he had eaten nothing since yesterday.

At that moment Nicole remembered Maria who was supposed to be there any minute. It would be better if her friend knew nothing about this little episode.

"Well, take care and have a nice day," she said and parted, feeling awkward, from the elderly man who waved his free hand as he was sipping his steaming hot coffee and looked as if he were, at that moment, in heaven.

Nicole started walking towards the cheese store at the opposite end so that she could make her way back to the bakery and make it look like she had just arrived herself. Her eye caught Maria's back as the latter entered the ladies' room. Good. She was there. Nicole would wait a few minutes before she returned to the bakery.

She stepped into the nuts and dry fruits store to check the price of shelled walnuts for the coffee cake she was planning to bake . When she emerged with her little bag of walnuts, raisins and dates she saw that Maria was waiting at the entrance of the First Harvest , looking rather awed by all that was spread before her. Nicole hoped that the old man had finished his coffee and was gone. Maria who had seen her by now waved her hand and started walking hurriedly towards Nicole.

They greeted each other with a hug.

"I had a bit of a problem leaving Richie with my mom. He doesn't want to let go of me lately. Have you been waiting long? "

Nicole could not lie. "No, just long enough to buy some nuts and raisins," she replied. "So, how about our coffee before we check out all the other stores?"

"No, not just yet," Maria pulled her to the opposite direction from the First Harvest. "There is a man there who is asking for money from the people. I already said no, so I don't wanna see him again. Let's wait until he goes away."

But it was too late, Nicole spotted the man whom she had treated to coffee and Danish a while ago. He was coming out of the shop now, and he saw her too. He flashed her a big smile as he rubbed his stomach in a circular fashion with his right hand trying to communicate that her treat had hit the spot. He looked thankful. Nicole felt embarrassed, she gave him a quick nod of acknowledgement and hoped her friend did not see the exchange.

"Really," Maria was continuing, "it really bugs me to be asked for spare change by people. Why don't they get a job and work like everyone else instead of begging?"

Nicole knew if she told Maria what had happened, Maria might laugh and say something like, "That's typically you, the champion of the underdog. I wonder how many coffees and cakes he's had before you came along today."

Nicole would rather have done what she did than chance a man go hungry. So, she chose not to argue and replied, "I wonder. I wish I knew the answer. Yet, I don't know what is worse: helping them momentarily or simply ignoring them . But I certainly wouldn't want to be in a position where I had to beg in order to eat."

"You? Beg?" Maria stopped momentarily, enunciating each word and stared at Nicole as if the other were kidding. "Oh, don't be silly! You'll never beg. Let's go and get some lunch before the coffee; I am absolutely starved!" Maria's voice chimed. As she slid her arm into Nicole's, the latter could not help wondering where that poor man's next meal would come from. Then she realized that just as she had never seen him before, she would probably not see him again . So, she tried to put the thought behind and not spoil the afternoon for Maria.


It turned out to be a very pleasant afternoon, especially for Maria who had a chance to get away from her house chores and motherhood duties for a while and spend a few leisurely hours with her friend.
. . . . . . .

Another lively spring had ushered a beautiful summer; and in time a colourful autumn bid welcome to the winter.

The market was always crowded around Christmas. Freshly cut pines, seasonal ornaments, fresh wreaths, cyclamens and flowering Christmas cacti made the place look like Santa's palace, if he had one. People rushed in and out of the shops, ordering their turkey, picking the perfect tree, drinking bowls of hot chocolate and simply savouring the season with its sights, sounds and the ambiance that could be felt only by being there.


Nicole thought of the few weeks in December as the climax of an entire year before life quietened down a bit at the market. The following couple of months would bring in a quieter pulse, a subdued tone as nature silently prepared for another spring, another summer and another harvest.

Nicole had taken her niece Amber to help pick out a small wreath for her apartment and treat her to a slice of cake at the First Harvest. The little girl was happy to be out with her aunt and in anticipation of the reward that was awaiting her, she was on her best behaviour. They bought some sweet potatoes and carrots; picked a bag of fresh cranberries and started walking to the flower shop to see their display.


Amber's eyes shone when she spotted the Santa Claus standing on the steps of the First Harvest, jiggling a long-handled bell and repeating , "Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!" Then she spotted the colourful lollipops spread out on a square kerchief at his feet; and next to them was a tin box into which people were dropping coins. Those red, yellow, green, orange and purple lollipops looked rather appealing to Amber. She stopped her aunt and looked up at her with pleading eyes.

Oh, Aunt Nicole, can I buy a lollipop from Santa, phleeease?"

Nicole laughed at the child's innocence, but she did not want to burst her bubble. Amber had maybe another year before she started questioning the existence of Santa. "Alright, Sweetie, but just one." She fished out two - dollar coins from her pocket and handed them to the girl. "And put these into Santa's tin."

Amber darted towards the man dressed like Santa Claus and after depositing the coins ceremoniously into the coffee tin, she bent down to pick a candy. At first she reached out for the orange one, but she changed her mind and took the green. Just then, the red one looked more attractive than all the others, but she had already picked hers. . . and her aunt had said only one.

The man, stuffed into his Santa suit, was watching her. The white wig and the cotton beard that covered most of his face made it difficult to ascertain whether he was smiling or frowning. He must have seen her hesitation or read her thoughts. He let out a jolly laughter and said, "Go ahead, take another one. Ho! Ho! Ho! It's Christmas, after all."

"Thank you, Santa!" Amber did not want to pass up this opportunity by consulting her aunt whose word would not weigh as heavily as that of Santa's at that moment, anyway.

She quickly picked the red one on which she had set her eye, and was about to run back to her aunt standing at a distance, when the man dressed as Santa added so that Nicole could hear clearly,

"Just don't forget to leave a raspberry Danish and a cup of coff... errr , a glass of milk in the fireplace on Christmas eve!"


Copyrighted Material ~ Copyright © 2001 ~ All Rights belong to Füsun Atalay

Cloudburst

Füsun Atalay © 2001

A golden moment in time ~ captured in genuine smiles
on young, happy faces of a mop headed little girl
with sparkly eyes and white, baby teeth -
exposed like piano keys behind her parted, crescent lips.

Next to her stands a woman, tall - pale and blonde.
Her lips look dark in a black and white snapshot of mother and daughter:
one sitting on a swing; other standing by- her hand on the ropes
slender, gloved hands clasped in a tight grip
before giving that gentle push to swing high
above the crimson, orange, yellow leaves of the park.

But you never let go of the ropes, have you?

I look at that photo that somehow survived so many moves
from cities to countries-
protected from storms- hidden between pages of a book -
spared from being lost.

That is the only reminder now of who we were ~
and how we have been torn apart by years !

I look at us : a mother and daughter team -
the wind-blown scarf of paisley prints brushes a velvety cheek.
smiling at an anticipated, shared dream.

I look at you now-
who still wants to set the speed, draw the map,
pull the strings, yet -
your arthritic fingers don’t have the strength to hold on.

You’ve become a stranger to me
agonised by her obsessions of holding unto a child
that little girl no longer is.

I wish I could dive into the lines of your once beautiful face
that was raped by spiteful years - pry my fingers
to smooth them out and dig down deep at the memories:

. . . grassy walkways under my bare feet, a pond with reflections of clouds
interrupted by a white swan among the pink water lilies. . .
flowers I had offered to you - their sunshine yellow petals,
radiating from soft, velvety brown bellies
long stemmed and thin- some kind of daisies. . .

How can I make you understand without breaking
the heart of that young woman who once held my hand-
without bringing clouds into those prosaic blue eyes
and making you feel unneeded, rejected, and alone ?

I have not travelled your path, but there is no escape.

My turn will one day come - when youth concedes to time.

Maybe by then you will not be around - but
I want to remember you as the foundation of my strength,
and the source of my joy - not as the bitter old woman
who had little purpose in life than to play with her daughter’s head
as if it were but a toy.

I still love you — but please, live and let live !

The ropes will slip - the swing will escape from your grip
soar above one day and sail away far ~

How do I make you understand ?

Copyrighted Material ~ Copyright © 2001 All Rights belong to Füsun Atalay

Brown eyed Susans

a short story

Dedicated to my Mother

Füsun Atalay ~ Copyright © 1997

The ground was still fresh and loose where she knelt. The earthy smell in the early morning air and the dampness under her knees were redolent of the long, rainy night. April showers had been a little tardy this year; yet May was finally here after an eternally long and icy winter.

She picked up her pot of Brown-eyed Susans to transfer each plant from the earthen container to the fresh, black earth itself where they could continue to grow keeping alive somehow the love they had always symbolised for her.

With the index finger of her left hand she gently rubbed the velvety brown centre of one as her mind wandered back in time to long ago when she had first encountered this lovely flower with narrow, extended, yellow petals radiating like the rays of sunshine from a soft, brown centre.

* * *

She was with her friend Julie, on their way to play in the park facing their high-rise condo on the Boulevard. As they were always reminded at home and at school about road safety rules, they had walked to the end of the block and waited for the traffic lights to signal the pedestrians their right of passage to the other side of the boulevard.

It must've been late spring then too, for she remembered how happy and lighthearted she felt at hearing the orchestra of birds, and noting the soft, new green of grass that flanked the gravel walkways of the park sprawling in front of her.

She smiled at a young, pretty mother holding the hand of her toddler, strolling leisurely at his pace, and naming objects as he pointed them to her.

A little further, Julie had pointed out an elderly couple sitting on a bench, staring far away in quiet meditation. The lady had thinned, blue tinted hair through which the skin of her skull could be seen — and that the girls had found strangely curious.

Then she noticed a couple of city workers, at a corner of a flower bed, transplanting young flowers from their nursery boxes into the freshly turned soil where they would continue to grow and bloom all summer.

They were so beautiful, those flowers, especially the ones that looked like big, yellow daisies with brown centres. She and Julie had stopped to watch the men planting.

Forgetting her promise to her mother not to talk to strangers, Suzy had asked, "What are those flowers called?" pointing to the mound of yellow daisies with the brown centers.

"These, here? I reckon they're called brown-eyed Susans,"replied the older of the two men as he wiped his brow with the back of his wrist.

"Oh!" she couldn't hold back her spontaneous delight and surprise. "They have the same name as me! But Mommy calls me Suzy, and I have brown eyes, too!"

Then she and Julie had giggled like girls at their age are wont to.

The man had paused for a minute and the second one chuckled too as he replied, "Well, isn't that some coincidence? A nice girl like you with the same name as these pretty flowers... Say, would you like some? You can give 'em to your mom."

She couldn't believe what she had heard. This man was offering her some of those flowers. How nice it would be to surprise mother with them. "Can I? Is't okay with you?"

"How old are you, young lady?"

"I'm six!" Then she added quickly, " Until September."

The older man who offered the flowers, had carefully pulled the finest looking half dozen out of their nursery boxes, gave them a gentle rattle to shake off the excess earth from the roots, then held them out to her.

Suzy's face was suddenly overcome with disappointment. She wasn't expecting to take the bunch with soil still clinging to them. She couldn't give her mother flowers with tiny threads covered in dirt. Her hand which had reached out with her open fingers to receive the offering was frozen with hesitation in mid air .

The man must have read her thoughts, for he chortled and asked, "I guess you don't wan'em with their roots clinging on, do you? See, like this, you could plant 'em in your yard or even in a large pot and watch 'em grow. But I guess you're just interested in the flowers- clean and cut- for a vase. All right, Mis Susy, if that's what you want, that's what you'll get."

With this, he'd broken the roots from the stems and with his garden-gloved hand cleaned the long stems from any remainders of earth, before holding out the brown-eyed Susans back to her.

"Now, do you want some too?" the question was directed to Julie, but the latter shook her head shyly. Julie didn't have a mother to give flowers. She was being raised by her aunt after her mother died and her father remarried and moved to Texas. The corners of Suzy' lips turned upward in a satisfied smile, she thanked the man, clasped her newly acquired treasure and pulled Julie by the hand to follow her back home.

She couldn't wait to see her mother's surprise. This was the first time she'd done anything so impetuous in her- life possibly emboldened by the presence of a friend. But deep inside she knew she was doing it to please her mom; to tell her just how much she loved her and thought of her all the time. Julie felt her friend's excitement and liked being part of something although she was not so sure if they had done something good.

The girls retraced their steps back home through the traffic lights at the corner, down the boulevard, in through the thick glass doors of the lobby and up the elevator to the twelfth floor.

Suzy's heart was pounding with joy as she knocked on the door marked 1202. Her mother, who was having afternoon tea with Julie's aunt was surprised to see the girls back so soon, but her apprehensive frown began to melt into a smile of relief when she saw the flowers held out to her.

" Where'd you get these," she asked, unable to hide her anxiety, "Who gave them to you?"

Suzy told her mother the whole story of her triumph, barely stopping for a quick breath, her eyes shining, her heart singing, her animated hands gesturing and her thoughts racing ahead, wondering what her mother would say at the end of her explanation.

Her mother placed her arms around Suzy and replied "Oh, Sweetie don't talk to strangers or take anything from them when I'm not with you. Promise me that."

For the first time in her overwhelming excitement, Suzy had realized the gravity of what she'd done, and the concern of her mother at her having broken a very important promise. Yet the exuberance of her triumph, especially- at having outwitted two grown men into cutting off the dirty, earthy, stringy substances- momentarily overshadowed the guilt of her undeniable wrong doing.

Her eyelids lowered, she promised, "I won't do it again, Mom." Then the glee in her voice returned and she continued. "But wasn't I smart? They were going to give the dirty roots; they didn't look the so nice."

What she heard in response from her mother's lips next had gashed into her heart like an invisible dagger, robbing her of all the anticipated praise and the joy in her intent, and humiliated her before Julie and her aunt.

"Well, that was a foolish thing to do, honey," chimed her mother's animated laughter. "Of all the parts, you should have left the roots attached. That way we could have planted them in those large pots in our balcony and enjoyed them all summer long. Isn't that right, Julie?

"Anyway, that's not so important. I'll put these in a vase now, and you girls go wash your hands. Then you can join us for some refreshments; I have some of your favourites laid out."

Yes, Suzy, even in the midst of her alacrity, had noticed the coffee table laid out with gold-rimmed porcelain plates, used only for important guests, laden with delicate sandwiches and mouth-watering sweets including her favourite: Fauchon's hearts, those heart-shaped, melt in your mouth, butter cookies held in pairs with a thin layer of seedless raspberry jam between each pair. At that moment, however, she'd lost any gusto she would have usually had at such a special invitation. . .

She turned her eyes to Julie beseeching her support, but her friend seemed to have already betrayed Suzy by her silence.

That event had occurred almost a life time ago. The flowers had lasted little over a week in water in a crystal vase, then one by one they wilted and were tossed away.

The resounding words of her mother, however, were seared in her memory forever. As a child, she did not understand, but she had nevertheless, felt the imperfection in what she'd done. Her good intentions somehow had been lost in her failure to see the bigger picture.

As a young woman when she'd reminded that incident to her mother and tried to explain how she was distraught by the latter's remarks at that time, her mother had no recollection of the episode.

Eventually, through the years, she'd grown to understand the sense in her mother's words; and the unintended pain caused by her casual utterance so many years ago had slowly faded away.

Often in her quiet moments she would question her mother's frustrating adherence to the functional instead of the aesthetic. Then, in time, she herself had learned not to judge appearances and be fooled by her eyes; yet there remained a feeling of an unfinished business to the whole affair. . .

Today she was going to make peace once and forever; and close that episode of her life. She carefully removed a flower from its pot, making sure the roots were intact and undamaged, placed it gently into the hole she dug up for it in the ground, and scooped up the fresh earth with her bare hands to secure the lovely brown-eyed Susan in its new home.

She did this for the remaining flowers, spacing all twelve of them to form a half moon at the foot of the white marble headstone. Here her brown-eyed Susans would thrive and blossom; and their roots would traverse down into the depths of the earth to draw strength from that source of inspiration which was her life's greatest love and her toughest mentor.

A tear found its way down her cheek unto the velvety brown core of a flower and was absorbed immediately.

Now the communion was complete.

She looked one last time at her name-sake flowers. The joy and pain brought by them had caused her a life time of soul searching to make something right. Until now she'd not known what that something was, but at this moment she felt the kind of inner peace that she'd been searching for.

She knew she'd done the right thing to bring a closure to this childhood event which must have been so significant for her that it stood out among her memories. She'd finally given her mother something that would not wilt and be tossed out like the rootless flowers; but instead they'd grow and continue to impart radiance and pleasure.

She had presented her mother the symbol of her misunderstood, yet eternal love; but this time she was on her own, for there'd be no words of approval or disapproval of her gesture.

She picked up her empty pot and carefully, placed her gardening tools in it; straightened herself up and took three steps backward. Then reverently she bowed and turned around to go home.

When she lifted her head up again and looked straight ahead, she vaguely noticed, further away in the sky, the arc of a magnificent rainbow.

Copyrighted Material ~ Copyright © 1997 All Rights belong to Füsun Atalay

East meets West

Your imagination is the only limit when you combine different styles of cuisine.

Copyright © 2007 All Rights belong to Füsun Atalay

Fusion cooking, despite its relatively recent and avant garde name, has been around for hundreds of years. Fundamentally this type of cooking combines key elements of ethnic recipes and cooking styles with some variations on flavors and spices to create new dishes which look and even taste like the original ones.

A good illustration of this would be the "shish kebab," so common in Middle Eastern countries. Shish is a Turkish word which means "skewer", and "kebab" refers to meat (usually lamb) that is cooked over an open fire.

The authentic shish kebab is made with pieces of cubed lamb arranged on skewers, alternating with onions and green peppers. It is seasoned with cumin and served with yogurt into which crushed fresh garlic and mint have been stirred.

Contemporary North American cuisines have successfully fused this popular dish into their repertoires for many years by using beef, chicken, turkey, pork and even fish. Usually grilled on a charcoal or under the broiler, the fusion version of the shish kebab incorporates vegetables such as mushrooms, zucchini, tomatoes or red peppers in addition to the classic onions; and seasonings may vary from Asian flavors of sesame oil with soya sauce to more European hints of olive oil with balsamic vinegar.

At its best, fusion cooking can be compared to a culinary palette where the East meets West, and gives rise to delicious, innovative and colorful dishes. It’s a brilliant showcase that combines cross-cultural, versatile ingredients in harmony under the craft of the chef, and presents them so that they complement each other on the same plate as well as on the palate.

The alchemy of better-known ingredients with lesser known ones is the best approach for successful fusion. For example, a tablespoon of adobo sauce (made from smoked, dried jalapeno chilies, tomato, vinegar and spices) stirred in at the last minute into a humble chicken stew would not only create a fusion dish, but also offer an exotic flavor.

There’s no big secret to fusion cooking other than using the freshest ingredients and the cook’s own imagination and creativity. If you want to experiment with fusion cooking at home, be adventurous and take the first step by using spices other than those for which the recipe calls. But go easy on your first attempt until you see how the chemistry works on your palate.

Be resourceful and make similar substitutions when you cannot find the original item listed in the recipe. For instance, Sumitra Senapaty, a Delhi-based freelance writer on food and culture, suggests using lemon zest for lemon grass in a seafood risotto, or coconut milk for some of the heavy cream in a baked custard. The slightly different but delightful taste will be the result of a fused cuisine.
• • •

Here are two starter recipes for trying fusion cooking at home.

Ginger Garlic Beef with Lime and Teriyaki Sauce

Three key ingredients in Chinese cooking — garlic, ginger, and sesame oil — are combined with lime juice and teriyaki sauce in this fusion dish.

1 pound sirloin steak cut into 2-inch slices
1 small yellow onion, sliced
1 green bell pepper, cut into thin strips
1 stalk celery, sliced diagonally
1 Tbsp. fresh ginger, julienned
3 Tbsp. soy sauce
3 Tbsp. pineapple teriyaki sauce
3 medium garlic cloves, minced
3 tsp. Asian sesame oil, divided
1 small red onion sliced
1/4 cup cold water
1 Tbsp. cornstarch
1/2 lb. shiitake mushrooms
pinch red pepper flakes
juice of 1 lime

Combine the steak, yellow onion, green pepper, celery, ginger, soy and teriyaki sauces in a bowl. Add garlic and 1 teaspoon of the sesame oil. Cover and refrigerate for 4 to 8 hours. Heat the remaining 2 teaspoons of sesame oil in a large pan. Add the red onion and the steak-vegetable mixture.

Cook over medium heat until the meat is cooked through (about 8 minutes), stirring often. Stir in the mushrooms and stir-fry another minute. Dissolve cornstarch in 1/4 cup of water and add to the contents of the pan to thicken the juices. Season with red pepper flakes and lime juice. Serve over rice or noodles and garnish with lime slices.


Asian fusion Orzo-Chicken Salad ~ Yield: 8-10 servings

Orzo is a rice-shaped pasta popular in Italian and Middle Eastern cooking.

450 grams orzo, cooked and drained
1 small cooked chicken, skinned, boned and diced (you can use a store-bought rotisserie chicken)
1 cup water chestnuts, drained, rinsed and sliced
150-200 grams sugar snap peas (fresh or frozen)
1 red bell pepper, cut in 5-cm strips
3 green onions, sliced on the diagonal
1 to 1-1/2 cups light mayonnaise
2 Tbsp. rice wine vinegar
1 Tbsp. Balsamic vinegar
2 Tbsp. soy sauce
2 tsp. hoisin sauce
1/3 cup toasted, slivered almonds, optional
ground black pepper and salt to taste

In a large bowl, combine sugar snap peas, orzo, water chestnuts, chicken, green onion, and red bell pepper.

In a small bowl, whisk together oil, vinegars, soy sauce, hoisin sauce, salt and pepper. Pour over orzo mixture and toss gently to coat. Stir in toasted almonds.

Serve at room temperature. Keep unused portion refrigerated. Taste improves next day.

Copyrighted Material ~ Copyright © 2007 All Rights belong to Füsun Atalay

Dinner for Two?

Here's a simple yet elegant way to say 'I love you'

Text and Photography By: Füsun Atalay ~ Copyright © 2006

With Valentine’s Day just around the corner and romance in the air, are you ready to dazzle your sweetheart with an elegant meal just for the two of you? A romantic evening doesn’t always have to be a candle-lit dinner at an expensive restaurant. With a little planning and some personal touches, you can create a memorable event in the intimate comfort of your own home.

To quote the modern French playwright Jean Anouilh (1910-1987), "Love is, above all, the gift of oneself."

So, go all out and give of yourself. Things that come from you, or are made by you, will mean more than store-bought cards and boxed commercial chocolates.

What could be more personal than a hand-written invitation for a cosy dinner, tucked under the pillow, or a blank card, scribbled with your favourite love poem and decorated with pictures, placed next to the dinner plate?

Regardless of how long you’ve been together with your sweetheart, a perfect way to show how much you care is by planning a special dinner you can share with each other.

But you don’t want to kill yourself in the process. A menu that looks scrumptious and tastes great can be easy and prepared at least partially ahead of time so that you can spend most of your time tete-a-tete, sipping wine, listening to your favourite music or conversing leisurely.

In Rome, St. Valentine’s Day was known as Lupercalia — a romantic and pleasure-loving occasion. You can create the ambience by serving your dinner in a room with a romantic setting. A glowing fireplace, soft music, fresh flowers, scented candles and a special table cloth will all help to create an ambiance.

Don’t forget to turn off your cell phones and unplug the phone.

You need to do some planning and preparation ahead of time so that on this special evening everything will work out smoothly.

I have prepared a menu to give you ideas and show you that taking some shortcuts doesn’t necessarily take away from the results, or the spirit of the occasion.

Orange and Fennel Salad

1 small fennel bulb, trimmed and thinly sliced
1 medium orange, peeled and sliced into rounds
1 Tbsp. olive oil
juice of 1 lime
Salt and pepper
1 tsp. finely chopped fresh parsley
1 Tbsp. sweetened dried cranberries

In a small mixing bowl, combine olive oil, lime juice, salt and pepper. Whisk to emulsify. Add fennel and toss to coat. Transfer fennel to a serving plate. Arrange orange slices. Sprinkle chopped parsley. Top with sweetened cranberries and serve.

Poached Salmon in Puff Pastry with Hollandaise Sauce

2 (4-oz.) salmon fillets, skin removed
2 shallots, sliced
fennel fonds (trimmings from the salad)
3 sprigs fresh dill
6 sprigs fresh parsley
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. black pepper
3/4 cup white wine
1 Tbsp. olive oil
1 package frozen puff pastry, thawed in the refrigerator
1 package Hollandaise sauce mix (I used Knorr mix)

In a saute pan, add the white wine, olive oil, shallots, parsley and dill sprigs, and salt and pepper. Bring to a boil; reduce the heat to medium-low. Simmer gently for 5 minutes

Add the fish to the pan and spoon the poaching liquid over the fillets. Cook uncovered until the salmon is firm and cooked through, about 8 minutes. If the poaching liquid doesn’t cover the fish, spoon the liquid over the fillets as they cook. Allow the fillets to cool in the pan liquid, covered to prevent drying.

Meanwhile, roll out the refrigerated puff pastry to a 12-inch by 1/4-inch thick square. Cut the square into two equal triangles.

Pat a salmon fillet with paper towel and place on the pastry from the middle to one corner. Fold over the remaining part to form a smaller triangle. Press the edges with a fork. Do the same with the other. Brush tops with a beaten egg. Set on a parchment paper-lined tray.

You can prepare everything up to this point earlier in the day and refrigerate. Bake in a preheated 375 F oven for 20-25 minutes. (Use a toaster oven if you wish).

Prepare the Hollandaise sauce just before serving, according to package directions. Serve over salmon in puff pastry with steamed asparagus or snow peas.

What is a Valentine’s dinner without chocolate? These chocolate cakes, with warm, molten chocolate inside, can be prepared a day ahead, poured into custard cups, covered with plastic film and refrigerated until 20 minutes before you are ready to bake them.

Chocolate Lava Cakes

1/2 cup unsalted butter
4 (1-oz.) squares semi-sweet chocolate
1 cup confectionery sugar
2 eggs, plus 2 egg yolks
6 Tbsp. flour
pinch of salt
1 tsp. vanilla essence

Butter four 3/4-cup custard cups and place them on a baking tray.

In a bowl over a pot of simmering water, melt butter with chocolate, making sure the bowl does not touch the water. Stir in sugar and whisk until butter and chocolate are melted, and sugar is blended. Whisk in the eggs, the yolks and the vanilla. Stir in flour until the mixture is smooth. Divide batter among prepared cups. (Can be prepared ahead up to this point.)

Bake in preheated 425 F oven for 12-14 minutes or until the sides are firm but the centres are still soft. Allow to stand for a minute before running a small knife around the cakes to loosen and invert onto dessert plates.

Serve warm with fresh fruit or vanilla ice cream.

Copyrighted Material ~ Copyright © 2006 ~ All Rights belong to Füsun Atalay