Moments

There is this saying that my mom shared with me a long time ago, and it goes something like life is not comprised of the moments we breathe, but rather those that take our breath away. It’s been a while since I have returned, and as one would guess, my mind drifts back to it, fighting the reality that I am no longer there. What is below are some moments that have stayed with me. Some of these I wrote while I was still there, and some are descriptions of moments I am trying to recapture. As we close another year and embark on the holidays—a time traditionally set aside for family—I encourage you to relish the moments. Those moments that remind you you’re alive, those moments that remind you to be present, those moments that you’ll try to remember in the years to come. Raise your glass, squeeze a loved one, and give thanks for all that you have, because the moment will be gone before you know it.

I have had many such breath-taking moments here; moments that I do not want to forget. One was when I was with Ernesto in Viterbo. We were approaching the open air Saturday flea market. He was resistant to the idea of actually shopping at it. I urged him to reconsider. He wouldn’t let me enter until he was done explaining his rules about visiting such a market. I told him openly that I would not abide by them; that I found his “go down each aisle only once” mandate to be too Chinese. How could we possibly barter if we didn’t know the competition? He debated on whether taking me there was a good idea. But he knew he needed help decorating his “Soviet” apartment in his host mother’s house. So, the moment came. Sporting his aviator glasses, he filled his chest with confidence, put his hand on his orange shorts, and declared, “I am ‘in the market’!” I am ready to part with my money!” Off we went, and he did. And he even won me a Chinese discount!

I had another moment. I was talking to my cousin Vicky who has a daughter Danae. I met Dane two years ago when she was just months old. Before my arrival this time, Vicky was explaining to her that I had come from America, or “A-mer-ica!” as it’s often referenced, and I was coming to visit her. She explained that I had to travel via airplane, and the trip took hours and hours. She explained how far away I lived, and how much I wanted to see them, and how I would be there the following day. So Vicky concludes all of this with: “Eleni is coming here, tomorrow!” And Danae nonchalantly responds, “Again?”

I spent almost five hours with my uncle today. We met in Syntagma square. Though I was early, I found him waiting for me. He is 70, and was dressed in a dark blue shirt and tan, pressed, linen slacks. His name is George, and he’s my dad’s little brother. We walked the pedestrian stroll Ermou, and we stopped for coffee. It lasted over two hours. We talked. He cried. And so did I. Thankfully, he shared his handkerchief with me. We went for souvlakia, and we talked more. He told me he would let his handkerchief dry before his next use. We parted ways at the train station, and I kissed him on both cheeks. I told him I loved him, and he gave me that look. That look that says I am here for you if you need me. I kissed him again. And as I write this, I find that I need his handkerchief.

The moon is waxing. The last couple of nights, my mom and I have been staying up until the wee hours to watch it set. We overlook a main thoroughfare and just beyond it is the sea. As we sit and talk—constantly interrupting each other to point out cars we like—we watch the reflection of the moon in the water move. The moon looks like it’s half of a droplet, and with each passing moment, as it works its way closer to the horizon, it becomes just a little bigger and its color changes from a creamy white to a deep orange. When it’s finally gone, we know it’s time for bed.

The moon was full the other night. There was a cloud shaped like Nantucket that gently faded away as the moon continued to rise. The sky was not black, but a deep blue. The moon shone so brightly that I could see my shadow on the veranda.

I witnessed a baptism today. You know when someone has done this, because the family gives “matirika” to all the guests (the root of the word derives from to bear witness) that they pin to a lapel. My cousin got married in 2004, and has four children in the span of the last five years. As I had not seen him since then, I told him and his wife that “my eyes are full” with their children! It was in the tiniest church I have ever been in. The priest had the thickest hair I have seen, and it crossed my mind that the baby might actually grab his beard in protest (this has happened in our family before!). The baby girl cried so much that I could no longer bear it, and so I started to cry too. The baby’s grandpa walked passed me, and saw me. He put his hand on my cheek to console me.

When was the last time you held a 3.5 pound tomato?


My mom’s koumbara came to visit us. She didn’t have long to spend, so to buy us time, I offered to run her up to where she needed to meet her husband. She wanted to direct me so it would be easy for me to get back to a road I knew. We needed to make two left turns. Neither was, according to signage, “permitted.” Having gotten comfortable with Greek driving, I took the first—crossing 2 lanes of cars—but was a bit hesitant about the second—where there were four lanes. She found the solution. She assured me: “The sign says no left. We’re not going left. We’re making a U-turn. That’s ok, because there is no sign saying it is prohibited.” Really? A left is a no-no but U-turn is ok? Really?

I slipped on a sidewalk the last day I was there. There, some sidewalks are made of marble. And marble is an unforgiving surface, especially to the human head. I had a lump the size of an egg. I didn’t worry until I heard my mom utter the words “internal hemorrhage” on the phone. It wasn’t so much that I may have needed medical care in that moment; it was that my only option was medical care in Greece. (Remember my burn in ’04?)

Across the busy avenue from where we live is a park. I am amazed at how green it is. Traffic on weekends is horrible, because so many families come to visit, and so many cars simply park in the right-most lane. My cousins came “down” to visit. The brought Danae and Thodoris. Danae does not sit still, and sitting is all Thodoris wants to do. As Vicky chased her daughter, D tried to catch a few winks. I found myself holding Thodoris. I thought I was distracting him, but slowly…so slowly…his eyes…they just got…heavier…and heavier…and his head…his head finally….relented to gravity…and I found myself catching his pacifier. Though the position I found myself in made me sore within minutes, I did not risk moving, fearing that I might wake him. So I didn’t.

It’s a crazy feeling to be in a place that is JUST SO FAR AWAY and yet so incredibly familiar. I can’t imagine what this is like for my mother, who grew up in Kallithea. We spent a day walking around and shopping there. We found an old friend of Mimi’s for coffee; he told me how they used to build vespa-type scooters from scrap metal. And once he discovered my love of cars, he explained to me how to parallel park my car—by using an e-brake and picturing a 90-degree angle. Mom and I ducked into a lighting shop to check out, well, lighting. As she was finishing up, I stepped outside for “fresh” air. She came out of the building, and as she closed the door, she said, “ I know this place.” “You’ve been here before?” I asked, trying to think of what other lighting needs she had. “Yes. It was where I went to elementary school.”

Pepi makes things happen. Pepi takes care of us. Pepi is a giver. And Pepi has an awesome memory. Many times, Mom and I found ourselves at her house. And when there, she would insist on ordering in. And because she remembered what I liked, she always order kalamakia. “Kalamakia” are meat on sticks at their finest. In this case, the meat is pork, and extra lemon is always provided. She would always over-order (so we got to take the rest home, and they rival cold pizza as the breakfast of champions). There was always a Greek salad. And there was enough pita bread to pave a walkway. And we usually ran out of fried potatoes (Mom’s weakness).
But the best part? The best part was the conversation. The best part was the informality of it all. The best part was getting in each others' way in the small kitchen, as they rest of the house remained unoccupied. The best part was savoring the stories we shared while sliding the wooden skewers away from our faces, leaving juicy, lemony bites to savor as well. It was not knowing who was going to join us for this impromptu affair. And it was listening to Pepi’s mom, Thea Maria, at 90+, punctuate a thought, provide a location, or remind us of a long-passed relative. It was my mom’s and Pepi’s laughter, as they coaxed each other to tell me something else I should I hear about the other. It was trying to stay quiet while Pepi was on the phone, deflecting questions and saying that the noise was coming from the TV, as she tried to shush into silence, without breaking herself up. It was talking about the day. I miss that.

Mom and Pepi heading out for a "banio"! This is one of my favorite images of the whole trip.

Level Two: Hog Wild

My first cousin on my mom’s side is the second son of my mother’s brother, Mimi, and brother to the cousin I have already written about. His name is Antoni. I remember him when he was a teenager and younger. He lost his dad when he was 16 years old, and for whatever reason, the image of him in my mind has been stuck though I have seen him in the 12 years since our loss of Theo Mimi. Mimi was the car nut in the family. He loved them. He worked on them. He knew everything about them. He said, “If I could put wheels on my wife, I would love her all the more.” He bought a 1960 Mini Cooper that his widow and Antoni still have. It has more than 1,000,000 miles on it, because Mimi would take it apart and rebuild it. My love of cars sprouts from him and my love for him.

Mimi also rode bikes. Here they are called “michanakia” or “little engines.” My mom has told me a story from back then, when she visited Greece and rode on a bike with Mimi. He instructed her to put her purse between them and close her eyes. My mom remembers going so fast along Syggrou Avenue that she couldn’t open her eyes if she wanted to, and of course she wonders to this day how on earth Mimi could drive! But that was Mimi, and there was only one Mimi.

Today, there are many more cars and michanakia in Greece. And when you’re driving anywhere in Greece, but especially in well-populated areas, the michanakia are what can take you by surprise. Here, they go wherever they want. In traffic, they move between slow-moving cars. Without traffic, they do the same, just at higher speeds. At stoplights, they flood the crosswalks to be first in line. At left turn lanes, they bypass the waiting cars and head to the front of the line to make the turn first. Of course the benefit for having a michanaki is the ease of getting around and above all else finding a parking spot. My American eyes, however, can only see the disadvantages—the lack of safety standards, the absence of helmets—and the speeds at which they weave through traffic horrify me.

I saw Antoni this week. Now, I think I finally have an updated mental image of him. He stands at 6’2” and has filled out. Even though I remember him when he was 16 months old when I was a tiny 9-year-old myself, he nears 30, and his goatee is a reminder of how far we’ve both come since then. Antoni invited me out with some of his friends. They meet every Thursday night. Sometimes they gather on Sundays too. You see, this group that he is a part of rides bikes. In further redefining my image of him, Antoni owns a hog and is a member of the Harley-Davidson Club of Athens.

I’ve only ever ridden on a scooter. That was in Greece too, back in 2004 when Freddie and Jordan came to visit and we wanted an easy way to get around Mykonos. I never drove the scooters, but chose to ride with one of the boys at any one time. While on the island, we ponied up for helmets.

“Wear pants.” When Antoni called to tell me he was waiting down below, I arrived, purseless, in jeans and closed toe shoes. He rides a Harley, but not one of those huge ones with back supports; it’s a sporty one, with a black matte finish. And no room to house a second helmet. With my mother watching above from the veranda, I climbed on the bike, helmetless. I thought that the only way I could be making the choice that I was making was to be in the hands of Mimi’s only surviving son. He had my full trust—and my life—in his control. (Only upon my safe arrival home did my mother confide in me her thoughts as she watched us zip away.)

“Hold on to me, because there is nowhere else to hold on.” I didn’t know where we were headed. But because of where we live, we had to get on busy streets. I hugged Antoni and rested my head on his shoulder. Worried about losing my contacts, I did not open my eyes for a bit. When I finally did, I chose not to look at the speedometer, but it did make me wonder: what was I doing exactly?

“Lean with the bike.” We were headed to Piraeus, so we were traveling on one busy avenue to get to another. We weaved in between cars, and sped through them as they merged from two lanes into one. (I had the opportunity to drive in Corfu a couple of years ago, and I likened it to being in a video game with the one difference being that my life was literally at stake. I think I just reached Level Two of that video game.)

As we approached Piraeus, I squinted to have some idea of where we were. I could feel and hear the gears changing. Click! We’d pull away from cars or other bikes. My one open eye watched as we passed between buses and cars and whizzed pass shops. I saw the headlights of oncoming traffic Click! as we traveled along the median to bypass a line of cars. The reflection of streetlights became a dotted line I could follow in Antoni’s helmet. Reminding me of my cranial exposure, the wind cooled my face, and I could occasionally feel it at my back when we came too close to a bus. Click! Click!

I’ll tell you about the details of meeting the gang when I see you next (the 20 or so bikes of all sizes, Antoni taking me by each one to match the person I just met to the bike as well as to inform me of the differences in the bikes themselves, my experience with the three other women that were there, a bus knocking a bike over, the members of the gang who directed traffic between buses and cars along the “steno”). Antoni took me home—I can only imagine before going out again—and I thanked him for the experience. I told him that it was the first time I had ridden a michanaki, and he was delighted that it was done properly. On a Hog.

More to come...

Random Thought

I have a cousin who speaks Greek so fast that I think I am listening to Morse Code.

“Italy” is misspelled.

I am not at all sure where to begin with my trip to Italy. Explaining how it should be “Eataly” could be one starting point. However, I will tell you about this experience instead.

Many of you know my close friend Bernie. Bernie married Roo six years ago in Vernazza, Italy, have a daughter Ruby about 2-1/2 and little Mei, who is weeks old. Roo’s parents, Ruthie and Richard, spend a part of the summer in Tuscany each year, and this year, I was part of the lucky few who got to stay with them.

As my arrival time was a little unpredictable (is there any hope for a flight from Athens to Rome to run on time? This is why the world needs Germans or least the Swiss), they sent a cab driver who came to get me. He spoke no English and I no Italian, so the ride was quiet. But however quiet it was, it was as breathtaking. I was stunned with every turn we took (my amazement only interrupted by a moment of envy when I saw two women driving a 2010 Z4, top down). About ¾ way through the drive, the driver Anileo turned to me, head cocked downward, big brown eyes upward, and asked, “Bootifool?” And drawing on my extensive Italian, I said with great enthusiasm, “Si! Si! Molto!” He grinned broadly, nodding in agreement.

Just before sunset, I arrived at the house, waiting for the family to come. Bernie called to let me know they’d be late. They were coming from Montepulciano, where they had enjoyed a medieval wine-barrel rolling festival. Naturally. They arrived: Roo & Bernie, their daughters, Ruthie and Richard, and Roo’s brother Bo. We enjoyed sunset from the wall, and we had a light dinner. I enjoyed a great rest with the windows open, giving way to as much fresh air as I possibly could.

Breakfasts were spent under the tree at a long table, where good coffee and conversation never ran short. We made a quick one that morning, because we were off to the coast to see some more of the Rogers clan. A two hour drive included a pit stop in a tiny town for, what else?, espresso. We made our way through wine country. We arrived to find another Rogers brother, Ab, his wife, Sophie, and daughters Ella and Lula, who doted over their cousin Ruby. Cousin Ernesto and wife Arianna greeted us with broad smiles and hugs to match. Their 18-month old twins, Martino and Teo, were being minded by Roxie and Rocco (pardon me as I cannot remember the relation of these two!). We changed into our suits (big thanks to Ruthie here!) and off into the sea we went to cool off.

The swim and beachtime were followed by lunch. Ernesto and Arianna had prepared Linguine di Mare and Octopus. The table of 15 was set outside, or al fresco, under pine trees. The conversation was as spirited as one could imagine. I felt right at home, with multiple conversations happening at once, the wine pouring as freely as the intra-family ribbing. The conversation turned toward the “Toto,” a type of toilet that cleans one so well that no paper is necessary. I will spare you details of the conversation, only because this is a story better told in person. Suffice it to say that I really enjoyed myself, the family table conversation only enhanced by the family table wine.

We spent the next couple of days using the house as a base. Simply watching the sun play with the shadows across the countryside made me so content. Bernie described the countryside as “Playmobile: Tuscany” as we felt we should be able to reach out to move the bales of hay or the tractors along what looked to be a completely fake landscape.
Ruthie is the owner and chef of a famous restaurant in London, and so we ate very well. We talked about food being simply prepared, without lots of sauces or complicated flavors. We talked about being on stuck on an island, and discussing what would you take with you if you just had one food to take. Bernie added to the mix of asking “butter or oil?” We enjoyed eggplant, roasted tomatoes, fresh arugula, and porchetta. Oh and the porcini mushrooms! When more guests arrived, Ruthie greeted them with her famous fried zucchini flowers which is a hit with everyone, especially Ruby. Ruby is a fan of all things fresh, including the blackberries we were picking along our walk.

Good eating aside, I am reminded at how fortunate I am. First, I was visiting a friend I have had the good fortune to visit with in Zihuatanejo, Tuscany, and Rome—this year alone. She is a friend and confidante I have had for 25 years. As I told Ruthie, Richard and Bo in the car ride to the coast, I have had the benefit of Bernie’s good counsel for all of those years. She is a wonderful friend, and I am so very lucky to have her as a friend, and now her husband Roo too. And that I got to play with Ruby and hold Mei for as long as I did, well, I am reminded at how precious life is, and that no matter how much how may have materially, relationships are what make life worth living.

Link to full Italy photo album (including time with Ernesto in Viterbo!!) Some of the captions didn't come through (will have to fix...)

More to come...

Daily Life

I am back in Athens, and have started and stopped writing blog posts for numerous reasons. Daily life here does not mimic life in Seattle. And it's okay that it doesn't. At times I find things that do and do not make me miss Home. Last week, mom and I went to an outdoor cinema by foot and saw Inception. I was glad that it wasn't dubbed, but it did have Greek subtitles, so in addition to trying to follow the storyline, I was practicing Greek. The Cinema has tables and refreshments, so if you want to enjoy a kalamaki souvlaki with a beer, you may. The photo above was taken from our veranda yesterday morning. Please note the single orange cone to alert speeding traffic that workers are near.

Mom and I took a weekend trip with close friends to Agoriani, a small village up in Mt Parnassos. In addition to taking in the sights and local fare, conversation included differences between the States and Greece. We brought up safety as one, and how much the American is concerned for his fellow man's safety and security, whereas the Greek, well hey, if you weren't looking while driving and you fall over the side of the road, it's your fault. (Did I mention that we drove up a mountain to about 850 meters vertical height?)

I spent the day today going to the post office and to the grocery store. I love going to the grocery store here. It's a little insane. There is an entire section devoted to "Wheat Rusks" which are actually pretty good. Also there is a deli counter for Cheese, and a separate one for Feta, as there about as many varieties at each. Food is relatively inexpensive here (a red onion was .11 euros, a kilo of the finest Kalamata olives at 5 euro, fresh bread at .90 euros a loaf from a bakery, and juice at 2.50 euro). Those of you who have visited here will appreciate today's purchase of 7 cans of beer, with a FREE GIFT of an eighth can. The supermarket even delivered it all within an hour, so I didn't have to haul it home for my 15-minute walk on the heat. I feel like a local!

Speaking of the heat it's been perfect at about 85 degrees F. On our weekend getaway, we got a taste of the village--rain and fog and temps hovering between 55-60--but it was absolutely dynamite. There is something about heading up to the Mountain, putting on heavier clothes, warming yourself with good wine and better conversation, and enjoying the different environment that offers.

Breakfast there was hortopita, think cheese pie but replace the cheese with fresh local greens. The pita was handmade and we ate it with our morning coffee. Although our traveling companion, Kostantinos, prefers bread. I surprised myself in my enjoyment of this dish at that hour! We made a brief side trip to Kaloskopi, the village where my grandads and dad were raised. My dad's little brother is there during the summer with his wife, so we stopped in to see them though all too briefly. That village only has about 20 year round residents, so it's a dying village. The village where we stayed has about 350, and it's becoming more of a tourist site. We met some locals, one a driven young lady named Effie, who is in real estate among other things. She's the glue that holds a town together. She took us to see a hotel that was opened a few years ago by a Greek-Italian (got passion?) lady named Teresa. Teresa fundamentally is an artist. She has put together a beautiful hotel that includes only 4 rooms, all of which are different, but also a wonderful bar/common space, where the ceiling in unnaturally high, the menu is written on the window, and all of the details are hers (she made the clock for example, and the water basins that serve as sinks in some areas are carved from wood by her hand). It is AWESOME to see young women drive commerce wherever you are, and it was really fun for me to see how energized my mom got by seeing them. She sang their praises and gave them blessings. I think the differences she sees in her generation and mine spur her to encourage anyone to make a better life for themselves, but especially to the young women she meets.

I hate to cut this short, because I HAVE SO MUCH MORE TO TELL YOU! But I think some should be left for the trip home, no? I have to get going because (1) strikes going on today will make it harder for me to get around the city, (2) ouzo awaits in Thissio with my cousins and (3) I am pretty much done with the couple in the corner who have been making out since I arrived here. Though the window washer doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he just lit a cigarette.

Link to full album for weekend trip.

More to come!

Only the Truth is Funny

I am writing to you from Viterbo, Italy, so pardon the mistakes from this Italian keyboard. I have left Bernie for Ernie. In fact, I left the peace, serenity, and private double + bath of Montalcino for the noise, activity and bunk bed of a Roman suburb.

September 3rd is the religious festival celebrating the patron saint of Viterbo, Santa Rosa. There is a structure that is nearly four stories high that will be paraded through town by 150 men. The monument to Santa Rosa (who I am told will weep rosewater) is reconstructed every several years; last year it was new, so the Pope himself--Popemobile, too--came to help in the celebration!! Sidewalks are being roped off as we speak, and prime parking spots are giving way to bleachers. Ernie, whose blog I follow at left, is the big brother of a dear friend, and who is also teaching math here at a study abroad program for American students.

Ernie picked me up from the train station last night, and I was so glad to see another familiar face here. (I will have to back track later on my time in Montalcino with the family Rogers.) We left the train station to head to the main bus stop (he really is a Grade A tour guide) and along the way I saw the first thing that I don't understand. The following description should now end in the word that it does and yet it does: an open-toe, stiletto-heel, suede boot. Boot. Boot? Really? Ernie assured me that I would find more things that I do not understand and encouraged to make note of them. Number two on the list? The short bus we took home. Seating only nine passengers, it qualifies as the smallest public transportation vehicle I have ever been in.

Ernie has a flat in town above the school where he teaches. However, he has made an effort to move out of his comfort zone and challenge himself (a nice reminder for us all, no?) and is living at least part time with a host family. The bus dropped us off, and we walked along a dark road for about a kilometer until we reached the house. Skeptical, I asked Ernie where was he taking me exactly? Doubts of seeing my mother and Greece again danced through my thoughts, and then we saw the gate. His host mother, Anna, lives high above the walled city, protected by the sweetest German Shepherd you'll ever meet. Ernesto is sharing his small space with me, which puts me on the top bunk (really? really.). Apparently later today we will be shopping to make the place a little less Spartan and a little cozier. I will let you know how that goes, especially as Ernie is relying on ME to lead the charge.

I met Anna, and she ushered us immediately to the kitchen for dinner--stuffed tomatoes, roast potatoes, and a tortilla with argula and sour cream. Part of the dinner ritual is watching local Italian TV. The show Anna and Ernie follow takes place in an outdoor ampitheatre--naturally--with an aged Italian host in brightly colored button-down shirts--of course--and features older women dancing to songs, we believe, they themselves choose. As the train was late, we caught the program nearing its end. We saw a few grandmas compete (think Dancing with the Stars without the Stars, or the professional partners, or the glamour...), the most alarming of which was a lady in her 70s who started dancing on a chair, then zipped away her dress to show a two-piece, satin pink number with fishnets to boot, while dancing to the theme song--and no, I really am not making this up--the theme song to The Pink Panther. She continued dancing with the chair, and sometimes it wasn't her face that was captured by the camera. In competition with her was a very enthusiastic lady (same vintage) in a ruffled black and white skirt who could not stop smiling while shaking her hips ergo ruffles, and another, even older lady, who was so very short but wearing European-issue-for-older-ladies black, open-toe slingback lifts to help, which didn't. While the Macarena was playing, she shrugged her shoulders and put her hands behind her head, but did not accomplish much else because she was--as I imagine based solely on the fact that she seemed to be lacking most of her teeth--so very old. With the crowning of the winner, Signora Pink Panther, came our brightly colored host, an attractive young lady (who earlier in the program was dressed as an accordion next to a guy who was dressed as a popular Italian dessert), and a mascot of some sort that resembled the big purple thing from McDonalds.

My condolences to Peter Sellers.

More to come...

Good to Great

I am coming to you live from the business class lounge, only because I have dumb luck. My 100% Greek blood shown so boldly when I waited and waited and waited and then had a hard time finding a seat that I didn't know until CHECK IN that I purchased a business class seat! So I am happy to be in an air conditioned environment writing to you.

My thought for you is simply this: I am humbled and blessed at the outpouring of love I have felt here. And think of all the family I haven't seen yet!! It's an absolute amazing thing to be in a place so incredibly far away, and yet to have so familiar and familial. Amazing.

I have said to many of you before that my life at any point in time lies anywhere between good and great. And of course, I do what I can to keep the needle as close to "great" as possible. However, in moments like these, I realize how fortunate I am, for so many reasons, simply by my birthright to have what I have, and to have the needle point to great without any doing of my own.

More to come...

I really do love the heat.

We made it! After a relatively easy trip and a lot of sleeping by yours truly, we arrived in Athens, greeted by my mom's dear cousin Pepi. It was 10.30 am and already 90 degrees. We were strategic in our travel outfits to be able to layer up for the trip and peel away for the arrival.

We got to Pepi's house, and were greeted by her 90+ year old mom, Thea Maria. I am hoping that we can record Thea Maria while we're here so that we can develop an oral history of both sides of my mom's family. In addition, the family that visited us earlier this summer stopped in, and Pepi had prepared a huge lunch. Sorry there's no photo (obviously, I was not prepared), but included was: fresh fish soup (sounds horrible, but it's made with plenty of rice and avgolemono and it was DEElish), xorta (greens), boiled vegetables, yuvarilakia (classic meatball dish also with avgolemono sauce), homemade bread, olives and feta, and the main course of fresh fish prepared with arugula and mayonnaise. I am telling you *I* was surprised at how much I liked everything. We ate. I napped. We headed to our place that night.

I woke up at about 6 am to spot a ferry coming in (prob from Crete or Santorini). This is the view from our veranda, and no, it doesn't grow old.



We got settled and in and by 4 pm that day (after a nap and more yuvarilakia - we had some at 3 am), we were on a ferry boat that was getting a fresh coat of paint to Aegina. The mental image of Aegina for me is a hug by my Uncle NIck (who passed a couple of years ago) and my Aunt Anthoula. Anthoula is in her late 70s and swims several times a day. She's AWESOME and so easy going. It was so great to be with her. She has 6 grandkids from her two boys, ranging in ages from months old to 26. I feel so very fortunate to be so close to her. And though we were only there a couple of days, there is great joy in knowing that we'll be back very very soon.

We also got to see, though briefly, my cousin Christoforos. He runs a bar/restaurant there, called Anassa. You should try it. Of course, we ate very well, but only got to visit with him briefly. We are going to try to coordinate a trip to the village with him later on when he is able to get away. My mom and his dad/Anthoula's brother used to do that trip all the time when my mom visited here, so it would be very special for us to do it together.

Mom, Anthoula and I spent some of the time wandering around the town of Aegina. I never tire of this, as we visit the same shopkeepers and have established a routine so far away from home. Aegina is known for its pistachios, and so we get them from a particular harvester/roaster. I will try to snap photos of him and his shop, as he is a bit of a riot. The Pistachio festival on Aegina is in September. Since I will be missing the Seattle Greek Festival, maybe I should make it there!!

I did wander around the Port of Aegina while mom and Anthoula caught up at a kafenio. I took some shots of the port, but one I would like to point out is the "ouzeri" down below on street level, and the octopus hanging on a clothes line high above on the roof. Common practice in Greece, and we had some (at my cousin's) that was prepared over the coals and absolutely delicious. Seriously, you should try Anassa. I'm just sayin'.

Some moments are captured here, and as I have finally figured out some kind of internet from home base, I hope to post photos as I go...so check out the photos of the first days here.

I leave Greece tomorrow for a week. My cousins are less than pleased with me, as I am missing 3 birthdays, an anniversary, a baptism, and God only knows what else.

More to come...

What a Weekend!!

I am coming off one amazing weekend. My close friend - and frequent travel partner - Kendra got married to a fantastic guy, Brian, on Saturday, and me and friend Kelli W. got to officiate the wedding! I find it hard to write only because of all the emotions I still feel over the day: gratitude, for having been asked to be a part of it; confidence, for knowing what a great life these two will have together; joy, for connecting with so many people I got to meet and reconnect with; a little sadness, for anticipating losing out to the hubby on some future trips with a great friend.

My mother caught this moment, when I was honored to lead them both through the ring exchange.


It was such an amazing day to be a part of and to witness. And the best part is in knowing that the party is just beginning, as we have a lifetime of celebrations ahead of us. Isn't that awesome? Isn't that such a great part of friendship?! CONGRATULATIONS BRIAN AND KENDRA!

PS: If you'd like to get a glimpse (nothing more) of the bachelorette party in Whistler, Canada, and my slow ride up to it, check out the photos here. We had GREAT FUN, though I am still miffed by the dude at the border asking me if the car was mine!

Eat Pray Travel

When I left my job earlier this year, a then-coworker asked me: "So are you going to do an Eat Pray Love kind of thing?" And I replied to him: "If I tried that, I wouldn't make it out of Italy."

I soon leave for the Motherland with my Mother (no, I am not sure what she calls it). And in preparing for this excursion, I find myself with an overwhelming number of emotions. Earlier this week for example, I was putting songs on my mom's iPod that included some that I hadn't heard in a very long time. You see, just short of 10 years ago, I lost a dear first cousin, Dimitri. Those of you who are either (1) Greek or (2) knew me in high school may remember him as he did spend a couple of summers with us. Dimitri was about six months older than me, putting him about a year younger than Bro, so he was able to forge a meaningful relationship with each of us. I remember my dad telling me then how excited *he* was that Dimitri was coming, because Dimitiri was a little younger than the age my dad was when he immigrated to the US, and he understood the wide-eyedness of the coming to America experience.

In time, Dimitri's dream was to immigrate here too. Back then, he and his accent were a clear hit at summer camp. He had developed a following. And he loved it. He was full of personality. And drive. He put himself through business school and was able to parlay that into a sales role with a leading Greek software company, specializing in shipping companies. His firm had occasion to make a sales call in Seattle, and given that he had family here, well, they sent him of course. I had just started a new job. Though I was driving my dad's hand-me-down, an '84 Cadillac Eldorado (dad's from the era where Cadillac used to be the actual Cadillac of the line), I was looking at buying a new Miata. And of course, while I was with D, we talked about cars. His dad, Mimi, was the car nut in the family, and his love of hotrods ended up infecting most of us. So D and I were together in the Caddy, and I asked him what he thought. He said, "Get it, and enjoy it. And buy a stick-shift."

When I ended up visiting Greece in May of 2000 after many years, I was so eager to see him. I was traveling with two friends and he came to pick us up. The material difference from the last time that i had seen him was that he had been diagnosed with cancer. It was a very aggressive kind; my family kept urging him to come to Seattle for treatment. When I saw him, he put on his best face. He picked us up in Syntagma Square and took us to one of his favorite restaurants. I forgot he was sick. And he didn't want me to remember. By year end, he did come to Seattle. But it was too late. The cancer had gotten the best of him, and on February 5th, 2001, he passed. In an act of generosity, his mother gave me the book of CDs that he brought with him. The collection he brought spanned ABBA Gold to Yiannis Parios (his favorite) to Herb Alpert. After he died, I listened to those CDs incessantly, until I just couldn't anymore. I hadn't heard the music until this week. And when I did, I wept. (Pause - as I am now.) I cry because I ache to see him again, to witness his zest for life, his passion for fun, and to talk about the latest addition to the Aston line.

While there are those who are absent, there are a great many who are present. And what I have come to learn as I have gotten older is that the richness of all of these relationships is what makes me me. I am instantly accepted when I mention who my parents are, or who my grandfather was. It's my family. It's where I come from. And it's where I need to go to. "Anticipation is the purest form of pleasure." Though I am not sure if the person who said this had ever spent time in Greece, I don't wholly disagree. The thought of seeing my cousins, aunts and uncles again delights me. It delights me to the point where I think about certain people, knowing that I will be with them soon, "να τα πουμε απο κοντα," that instantly puts a smile on my face.

So to all of you who are staying put and not headed anywhere, I urge you to pick up the phone or write a short note to someone you love. Keeping people close, no matter the distance, takes effort, and it takes less than you think. Remind them of why they matter to you. Do not wait to create joy for yourself or for someone else. You may even make someone's day in the process. My commitment to you (and to me) is to do the same.

Blue Angels

For those of you who grew up in Seattle, you'll know that Seattle's annual Seafair celebration is kind of a big deal. It starts early in the summer with things like the Seafair Pirates invading Alki, the milk carton derby on Green Lake, the Torchlight parade, the sailors in town, and of course the Blue Angels. Their arrival marks the time of year when I don't care how much NEA funding gets cut in exchange for jet fuel. And I get kind of excited to watch them, as evidenced from my wardrobe.

Though the weather was less than cooperative this year than last, the Angels did their low show, and it was as awesome and loud as ever. Check out the photos.

Also, I have FINALLY learned to add captions to photos on the gallery, so the link above and the links below from Mexico and Oregon now actually tell a story (or parts of the story that I'm willing to share). Enjoy!!

More to come!!!

Long time no see...

Hmmmm well I had coffee today with a familiar face who expressed to me that my blog is dry. Yes indeed. I'd love to tell you that I've "found myself," "fell in love," or "won the lottery" but I haven't been searching, tripping, or buying tickets respectively. "What have you been doing?" you ask. Well, that's also a complicated answer.

A picture is worth 1000 words. (I once asked a high school English teacher if I could just draw the essay rather than write out the 1,000 words; she was less than pleased with me at the idea.)

March 2010 Zihuatanejo Mexico.
The only picture that's missing here is the one Shanthi so so so badly wanted to get (well other than the one of the crocodile, but that's another story). We were entering the water after letting ourselves bake all morning and she commented on how high the waves were. My response? "They're fine. We'll be fine." The final sentence of "What could possibly go wrong?" didn't actually make it out of my mouth because I was too busy swallowing heaping amounts of salt water while desperately trying to hang on to (1) my contacts and (2) m'bottoms. As I was coming to, a photographer appeared from NOWHERE only to ask if we wanted a photo. Only to never see him again, we waved him off, thankfully for me, but Shanthi was kicking herself for not capturing the moment where I was a mess and she was still put together. I have assured her--as I will all of you--that we have many many years in front of us that will include many such moments.

For highlights that were documented, please visit the below link to see me, Shanthi, Bernie, Kendra, Katina and Marlene enjoying the weather, sites, and stairs of this beautiful Mexican fishing village. And its one Greek restaurant (I swear they find me, I swear) where they played the theme to Zorba and I danced and Katina was nowhere to be found...how convenient.

MEXICO Highlights:
Photos from a Plane!
Shrimp Tacos
Life is a Beach
Olga's home cookin'
Fun about town
Helping Marlene with her Beachtime PB


June 2010 Depoe Bay, Oregon and environs
Anyone who knows me knows that I love a good pun. I might even say that from time to time I upset people I love because I simply cannot control my verbal response (shots of punicillin don't help). So when I had trouble finding a B&B on the Oregon Coast, is it any surprise to you that I shouted "SOLD!" to myself, alone in my apartment, when I found "Pana-Sea-Ah," the B&B to "cure your ills"? The innkeeper was a great guy and reminded me of my friend Jamie. I felt at home immediately there. I took about 3 days to drive the Oregon Coast and back, to take in what I could from Astoria to Newport. Do I remember the crazy native names of the points? No. Can I recall the places where I ate (well other than "Tidal Raves")? No. Do I remember the stretches of roadway where I had the most fun? Absolutely. Below is a link of some points that I really enjoyed, and yes, those photos are taken from the driver side of a fast-moving vehicle, and joyfully so.

OREGON Highlights:
Bridge to Astoria over Columbia River (I love bridges so you will see many photos of them)
A rainy Cannon Beach, but lovely nonetheless
CHEESE!
A plane that's mounted above ground (this one made no sense)
My "Garden Room" at the B&B. If you have to ask why it's called that...
Views from the room, the day of arrival and the next day when the sun came out
Driving down the coast from Depoe Bay to Newport, and stopping along Yaquina Bay and Otter Crest Point
The inside of a lighthouse where the technology that was developed to reflect light is still used today
A dead seal. I watched kids throw rocks at it. I also was downwind from it, and I do not recommend that.
Newport's marina, home to some of the loudest seals I have ever heard
And really fun road signs (another travel interest of mine)


More to come. I PROMISE!!!!

There Was This One Time...

People: Who knew that one could be so busy and occupied when not working?! I have so many stories I want to share, from Whistler (was there for the Canada win of the Men's Skeleton) and Mexico (two words: shrimp tacos; another two words: with bacon). Of course, I am just getting my head around all that I want to write, but I am experiencing technical difficulties, as my internet access has been flakey at best. So, I have sought to find free wifi (thanks for all those suggestions!!) to take care of some things, I still haven't found time to do things like my taxes. So I promise promise promise to write more soon.

In the meantime, I leave you with this thought: If you had a month to spend however you wanted, what would you do?

Trying Again on the Photo, Again.

I Need Someone Who Knows How to Get Things.

So last summer I anticipated late winter doldrums and planned a trip with some of my closest girlfriends. Though some could not make it (we'll have some babies to celebrate this summer and fall, and have recently welcomed William Constantine Hughes!), coordinating shedules was still a bit of a bear. All I knew about where to go when I asked them if they could make it was we're going someplace sunny and probably sometime in February. We finally settled on late February and the number of bodies.

I started to look for places via the interweb. I found several properties in sunny locales and in the process was reminded that I do not like this kind of thing. Managing details that is. So I found a place Trat fit the requirements but that I didn't love. My old and good friend Marlene gave me wise counsel: just pick a place that you want to go to and we will all be ok with this. Things always work out-esp when friends are nearby! So I dumped the place in PV and then found this one, a condo owned by a very nice lady named Mona who lives on Manhattan's upper east side. That actually makes her name Moe-na.

I am so glad and so fortunate that the timing of it all worked out that we left Sunday the 28th. This allowed me to voluteer at the Olympics. And now, in a span of three days, I have gone from sub-freezing weather to swimming in a warm ocean.

If you haven't figured it out by the title or the photo, I am spending this week in Zihuatanejo, Mexico, with some of my dearest friends. The photo was taken on arrival at our/Mona's place. I am flanked by Marlene (left) and Bernie. Katina and Kendra are with me, and Shanthi is on the way.

I think we're going to be just fine.

From Two Posts Ago

Trying again on the photo.

I Blame Oprah

I found myself this morning, on my day off, standing in line at 8:20 am for the Olympic Store to open. Never in my life have I done that. And the kicker is it was for mittens.

If you've been watching the coverage you will know them. They are red, with the Canadian flag's maple leaf on the palm and the Olympic rings on the back. Oprah opened a show wearing them last week. It would have been easier for me to be audience member to get them.

I didnt want to risk loaing my spot to go get coffee for the 45 minute wait. The line was a block long by the time the store opened at 9 am. The mittens were in a bin (given how quickly they sell out one might think that they would at least put them out on a table, but no) and EVERYONE was there at 9 for them. The limit on the number to buy has been reduced from no limit prior to the opening ceremonies (where was my head then?), to 4 last week, to 2 today. Eleni was not pleased with this news. People were pushing back and forth and crowding. We were all here for the same thing. I don't understand what happens to people on these situations. I have never been to Filene's Basement. I have not trained for this. I find myself unprepared. I was trying to be nice and disapproved of those who weren't. I actually had to tell a lady much older than me to "take it easy." Finally some nice man just started throwing out pairs to those of us in the back who couldn't reach. The hoarding still happened though, as people held onto what they grabbed. People clutched onto their booty, while eyeing others'. Negotiations began. "Anyone have a small for this large?" I slowly made my way to the second queue, this time for the cashier, to make my way out. I was out by 9:15. I rewarded my heroism with a banana-nutella crepe.

In the creperie, an older couple came in. The man was in shorts--chilly for that, I thought--and he was walking with the aid of hand crutches. I was sitting in the rear and gazed at the couple through the window. Once he made his way into the cafe, I noticed he had 2 prosthetic legs. With Paralympics on the collective Olympic brain, I did not think twice about it. What I did contemplate, however, was: Why bother with socks?

Fun with Apps

Normally that would mean appetizers, but not this time. Here's a little photo I took this morning at the north part of the village. As you can see we have a small flame up here too. I used colorsmash to adjust the color you see in the photo. Hope you enjoy.

White Ski Pants Should be Reserved for Linsday Vonn, Exclusively.

I have delighted in a multidide of experiences while I have been here, so many that I have not been able to keep up with writing.

I was made speechless by a bus driver who, when I went to thank him as I was stepping out, made a motion to stop me to tell me that "No, there is no pole dancing on the bus." And then he let out a wail of laughter. My first thought was wow, that is not at all what I was expecting, followed by did he really think that's what's on *my* mind? What makes this all the sweeter is that it was 6 in the morning as I was on my way to my shift, which also puts me in my uniform. Really, Mr. Canuck Bus Driver? Really?

Currently I am writing from a square in the village, where a band is warming up. The sun is out, all the beautiful people are out (and their botoxified lips), and they are piping in Ski Jumping live on the big screen. This place is still hopping from the Canada Gold in Men's Skeleton last night. This was the first gold won in Whistler. The place went NUTS. I didn't have to work yesterday, so I came on to the village for a bite to eat and to watch the skeleton finals. Skeleton is the one where the athlete is face down on a sled and going about 80 mph. I watched the woman from GBR win on tv. She set a course record in the first heat the day before--and then broke it on the third heat the next day. I decided to head up to the venue to catch the men live. And wow am I glad I did. Though the days have been clear and the nights very chilly, the "bowl" was hot with anticipation. The bowl is the spectator area at the last corner of the track. When Canadian Jon Montgomery came around and placed first with just the Latvian favorite remaining, the crowd knew he had secured Silver. When the Latvian came in and was seven one-hundredths short, the crowd and the athlete went Ballistic. I took it in where I was, and I even got a little emotional. I got swept up in the moment too I guess. I hustled up to the finish dock. All the medical volunteers raced up the track and flooded the area with everyone else. It was a zoo. Montgomery is from Manitoba eh and is a car salesman and auctioneer by trade. He came down to the village via Gondola, the police making a path for him to get to the Canadian tv outdoor studio. Someone at the base of the mountain handed him a pitcher of beer, which he later "auctioned" off on camera to show his skills. He mentioned that he wanted to compete in a sport where he "could give Canada a chance." He has a tattoo (which he got with his mom his senior year of high school) of the Canadian flag over his heart. His whole family was on camera with him. It was great to witness.

You know, there is something about winning a gold medal at the Olympics no matter the season, no matter the sport. What I learned yesterday is that it's a different matter entirely when you win a medal--especially a gold medal--at the Olympics and at home.

View from the VCC

This was earlier tonight from just outside the VCC trailer. you can see twilight and some of the ops trailers for the venue. I caught this on the way back from the Honey Bucket, which is the m.o. here. (Brings whole new meaning to Olympic Movement.)

Just Another Day at the Office

Can I even tell you... I mean do you know how awesome it is to take a Gondola to work? it is pretty great!

The Scenery is Here. Wish You Were Beautiful.

Stunning. Simply stunning. I stared out the window the entire time. More to come-including photos-soon!!

I should probably elaborate. The Sea to Sky highway is a 2.5 hour drive from Vancouver to Whistler. It hugs the water and provides absolutely breathtaking vistas of white-capped mountain scenery. Though I certaiy would have enjoyed driving it myself, the bus ride was easy and comfortable too. I am not sure what elevation we are, I can say that the climb to get out of Vancouver proper was steep (where we pass the gondola that heads up Grouse Mtn). During the ride, we were up high above the water and then would slowly wind our way down again. Pictures are on my real camera so you'll have to wait for those. We made our way into Whistler Village, I passed the time on a coffee shop before I went to receivey accreditation and uniform - everyone gets ski pants and jackets! Which means Eleni does NOT need 70% of what she brought!! once I was through that process, Lauren and I connected.

When I got Lauren's call, she said she was "in a Traverse." k. I don't know what that is but I'll find you. I found her in the larltest Chevy crossover on the radio. Lauren has been in Canada since summer 2008 and in Whistler since Oct 2009. She manages all the transportation for one venue, the Whistler Sliding Centre (WSC). She developed the plan for all the transport needs of the venue and now "the numbers on the spreadsheet" she created so long ago are now coming alive as real people! What an accomplishment! And there will be 130 just under her, meaning just transport and just WSC.

The WSC is home to the craziest of athletes, the Bobsleigh, the Luge and the Skeleton. The Skeleton is a heads-first luge In casesyou were wondering. Speeds SR as high as 80 mph and the drop in elevation is almost 500 feet. I can't wait to see if I can get a glimpse, and I mean glimpse at that speed!

First day of work Is tomorrow. I wanted to work with Lauren, but LB heard they needed competent people in the Venue Communications Centre (VCC), so she fooled'em and got me in there! :) I will be an operator in the VCC, so I will finally be putting this radio voice to good use.

"Breaker breaker one-ninre*... come on..."

*Canadian spelling

Vancouver 2010

I am so excited to be part of the Games once again! Thank you to Lauren Briel, my friend who has been working up these since summer and who helped me find a volunteer opportunity at Whistler, indoors. I leave Tuesday and will be there for a nice long stretch. I am excited to be part of the "back office" as the pressure for performance is quite different than those we might tune in to watch in the evenings. I learned in Greece in 2004, and I am reminded again now, the commitment one must have to be a participant at the Games. Of course, the metaphor isn't lost on me. In Athens, I was watching an event with another NBC employee. He said this about the athletes we just witnessed receive medals. "You don't *win* silver or bronze. You *lose* gold." This struck me and stayed with me for a long time. Chase the "gold." Don't lose out. Make the most and be the best. This is how I had interpreted it. What I have learned since then is that this might be an American ideal, one grounded in competition, supporting the old adage that people stop counting after number one, or losers don't keep score (kind of makes me think of that premature "Mission Accomplished" banner). But as I embark on my next step, I know it's the journey that's important. And if I knew then what I know now, I might have reminded him of the oath pledged by all Olympic Athletes: "In the name of all competitors, I promise that we shall take part in these Olympic Games, respecting and abiding by the rules that govern them, in the true spirit of sportsmanship, for the glory of sport and the honor of our teams." The how is as important as the how much.

Bittersweet

To write a new chapter, one must close one, too. Though my future is uncertain and my present/recent past has been very good, I will tell you that I feel good in the choice I am making. It's times like these that I revisit my favorite poem:

to be nobody but yourself
in a world which is doing its best night and day
to make you everybody else
means to fight the hardest battle
which any human being can fight
and never stop fighting
e.e. cummings

Discovery. Adventure. Joy. Sadness. Fear. More Discovery. These are the things that I look forward to experiencing.

I am excited to share with you what I learn along the way!

Will the funny client please stand up?

There have been a wide variety of reactions that I have gotten since my announcement. "Take me with you!." "Wow, I couldn't do that." "Wow, I wish I could that." "I will have to live vicariously!" And someone massaged that last one to living "vicarrasly." (But I can't remember who you are, so please identify yourself!). So there you are people. I invite you to live vicarrasly.

I have several things in motion right now. Once I begin to bring shape to my plans, there will be more to come!

testing testing....

is this thing on?

Hello out there.