It Turned Out Beautifully, Didn’t It?

Born in 1930, she spent most of her life in poverty, illness and struggle, set up her stove late and took it down before spring had even come so that less coal would burn, did embroidery until morning to put her children through school, lived, in her own words, “without needing anyone”, one of the strongest women I know: my grandmother. 88 years old.

My grandfather was a felt maker. He always left home in the morning before the sun rose, earned his living by the sweat of his brow, worked it stitch by stitch into patterns. Today’s technology was nowhere in sight back then, of course; to produce, you had to press for hours, kick until your knees grew calluses and you no longer felt the pain, and kick he did. For a full 40 years. He was also a muhtar, a neighborhood headman, for 35 years, as my grandmother proudly tells. It’s not easy to carry the trust of an entire neighborhood on your back for so many years. I never met my grandfather.

For as long as I can remember, my grandmother has been someone who “can never sit still”. I never saw her, say, settle into a corner and relax with her tea in her hand. There is always a worry on her mind, a problem that needs solving or a job that needs doing. I never saw her too lazy for any task: a 16-year-old girl, still, even at 88.

Around here, preparations for winter start early. What with canned goods, tomato paste and tarhana, every house works like a small workshop. When I went to her house a few weeks ago, I caught my grandmother making tarhana. She had started the preparations early (she must not have been able to sit still), kneaded the dough, dried it nicely and had now reached the sieving stage, which, as those of you who know will be aware, means the very last step. Paying no mind to the deep cracks all the burdens of the years had left on her hands, with intense effort, without stopping once, she sieved the dried dough, turned it into powder and left it to dry one last time.

When all the work was done and she withdrew to rest and chat with us, she leaned back on her straw cushion, looked me in the eyes and, as if explaining the reason for all those hardships, troubles, sorrows, sleepless nights, all that toil and bread, said “It turned out beautifully, didn’t it?”

A few months ago, while preparing the piece “What Gets You Out of Bed Every Day?”, I had opened it like this: “Have you ever thought about what you work for, what it is that gets you out of bed every day, what kind of motivation pushes you to do more on mornings before the sun has risen, while pacing the deserted streets of the city in pitch darkness?”

What my grandmother taught me by feel, and what I’ve experienced after all these years and all this work, is that the greatest motivation for being able to work for a goal without stopping, without tiring, for being able to pace the deserted streets of the city in pitch darkness on mornings before the sun has risen, comes, I think, from being able to say it turned out beautifully. Only after being able to say “it turned out beautifully” about the work they’ve done can a person comfortably lean back on the straw cushion.

And yes, it turned out beautifully, Grandma!