#26 "Walking Walking" (By Grandpa)

Dear Grandchildren,

What do you know about losing muscle mass? I think that I have been losing that kind of stuff. Certainly my bike riding muscles have gone. Whoosh. I could afford to buy another bike, but I don’t like the high prices that I find in bike shops around here. And my watch and wedding ring are a little looser than they have ever been. I didn’t know that hanging onto bike handles two hours a day made that much difference. But evidently it does. Discovering these things shows that I am learning something every two or three weeks, in spite of how I seem to be doing in my Turkish class.

Speaking of my Turkish class, I almost quit ten days ago. I was completely flummoxed. I came home and complained to Grandma that I was being buried, that I was not grasping in the least what was going on, and that my brain cells are dying faster than they are being replaced. After my mini-tantrum against myself, I finally calmed down. I am still in the class. It ends Friday. I now have some language equipment with which to survive here, but I find that it doesn’t come to mind when I need it. You know, a slow brain.

I have never done so much walking as I do here. I thought that I was more or less allergic to this kind of exercise back home. After all, when I walk there, all I see are the neighbors’ houses and lawns that look better than mine. Such experiences could lead to depression or some other similar disease. But here, everyone is safely stored inside an apartment building. The only lawns are in parks. And there are a lot of trees, something that Joel would appreciate. Besides, my walking takes place early in the mornings. In a very nice nearby park. I walk on the walking-jogging path and I take twenty-two minutes to complete the circuit of the park. It is a nice way to begin the day and I get to memorize (again and again) a bunch of Turkish verbs. I shall probably keep on walking until the wet weather arrives.

I went to Istanbul twice this past week. The real story is the traffic. Gayle and I took the Metro into town last Tuesday. No one stood for her and gave up a seat, even though in Izmir it happens all the time for her. Evidently, in Istanbul even the young men remain seated in the presence of the elderly. Then our trip back to the airport was a long, long taxi ride. Mostly bumper to bumper and endlessly stopping and going. When I went Friday and came back Saturday, it was more of the same. Three of us from the branch presidency traveled to Istanbul this latter time. And our luck with traffic was hardly better. I think that I have spent seven or eight hours in a taxi during the past week. I don’t recommend it, even if you want to try it.

You have all discovered the power in being the last person ready to go anywhere. Certainly some of you recipients of this message discovered this principle when you lived as children in our home. In our situation here, that is my only real leverage. When we are going somewhere, the last one of us into the bathroom or into the bedroom to fetch an item wins the power contest. The other one has to wait. It is simple but powerful. In this case, the last one wins. Every time, without fail. Write it down.

I love you and pray for you.

Grandpa Brown