Laissez-faire familial tendencies go out the window when the nearest and dearest become the farthest and most exotically located. My dad, a prime example, skippered a crew of seven in Bodrum, Turkey, over my spring break. Land lover though I am, I decided there are worse things than sailing the Aegean and Mediterranean, and joined my shainghai'ed sister aboard the Dost for a week of perfect sailing weather and learning from Skipper Tim what it is to 'blanket the jib.'
Margit arrived in Istanbul a week early to see the city. But instead of trolling the city, she spent most of the week sleeping in my apartment, waking only to free animals in the bazaar-style pet store and to compare her English major self to Stephen King's Misery protagonist, an author held hostage by a crazed fan. In her comparison, I am the crazed fan.
My dad was in Istanbul briefly but found the Turkish enthusiasm over state founder Ataturk hagiographic and was joined by Margit in nationalist skepticism. I don't think they'll like my Ataturk Photo Journal.
Skipper Tim returned to the States. Margit left for Jerusalem, came back, left for New York, and left me with a new desktop background.
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