Rosie Reflecting

My previous week was interesting with ups and downs.   Monday just as we were finishing our breakfast on the veranda (comes from early 18th century: from Hindi varaṇḍā , from Portuguese varanda ‘railing, balustrade’), there was a flash, I looked at Jim and he returned my look and asked ‘that was lightening wasn’t it? ‘Err yes, think so.’ Showers (and they can be very brief showers) had been forecast for a few days, as had thunder. The thunder followed, resounding and reverberating round the mountains at the sides of the valley in which Dalyan and the River Dalyan are located (Dalyan by the way means ‘fish farm’). And then ‘down came the rain, the thunder and lightning’ as the song by Mitch Murray says. First Jim had to move inwards on the veranda, then we moved indoors. The rain, it rained all day. I made jam, apricot jam from apricots on a tree in a neighbouring garden. They are a little tart as the ‘furniture man’ who apparently as most people here has at least two strings to h

Every morning, for some time, I walk round and round the garden like the proverbial teddy F ırın sűtlaç and ice cream, chocolate and chestnut bear. In fact I may be starting to look like one, hair needs cuttiing and my cuddly format is returning due to cakes and rice puddings (the Turks know how to cook a rice pudding, the fırın sűtlaç, nicely browned on the top), ice cream and other puddings not to mention syrup soaked revani and baklava. The best baklava local to here comes from Dalaman Prison, now there’s a place worth a mention later. I digress it was food again, sorry. As I walk round the garden I need something to listen to, although there are plenty of beautiful flowers and if I’m lucky early on in the morning a pair or one of a pair for Blue Jays chatter at me from the wires up above. There is a limit to this excitement. I can climb over the fence to next door because no one is there and I might only meet a handyman (they are known as gardeners, I think my 6 year old grandd