"The secret of a full life is to live and relate to others as if they might not be there tomorrow, as if you might not be there tomorrow. It eliminates the vice of procrastination, the sin of postponement, failed communications, failed communions. This thought has made me more and more attentive to all encounters, meetings, introductions, which might contain the seed of depth that might be carelessly overlooked. This feeling has become a rarity, and rarer every day now that we have reached a hastier and more superficial rhythm, now that we believe we are in touch with a greater amount of people, more people, more countries. This is the illusion which might cheat us of being in touch deeply with the one breathing next to us. The dangerous time when mechanical voices, radios, telephones, take the place of human intimacies, and the concept of being in touch with millions brings a greater and greater poverty in intimacy and human vision."
— May 1946, Anaïs Nin
This is my wish for 2013: to reduce my hasty rhythm in order to be present in the moment.
I hope you join me.
All the best for the new year. And to those far, I hope to see more of you!
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Sandy Toes
Sandy toes are a sign that life is good.
I love water. I love getting my feet wet and making my way in. I love getting to know the beach by letting my feet dance on and in the sand. Usually, I watch the waves for a bit to get a feel for their pace, sometimes from my safe perch away from the water's edge, and sometimes from as I wade in. Here, the sand is a fine grain--and actually when it's wet, it's sparkly! Little specks of bronze break up what might otherwise look like a muddy mess.
Sayulita is a surfer's haven, so the waves here are a bit larger than what I would ordinarily prefer. It's fun to watch the surfers from our condo, at any time of the day. From up here (we're probably about 100-125' up), we can see how the paddleboarders and surfboarders fare, and whether or not any swimmers are alongside them. The last couple of days have been windy, and the waves a challenge for a recreational dipper like me. Yesterday, Marlene, Kendra and I headed up to San Francisco (aka San Pancho) where the waves were brutal and the undertow strong. It was blissfully hot and sunny, and not a soul around when we arrived. I kept running in and out. The waves were large and frequent. They broke twice near the shore. But today, the water was great. The waves came often enough to add a bit of excitement while allowing me to play.
In fact, I giggled. I was giggling alone in the water. I giggled again when I caught myself giggling. Kendra was on the beach, while Marlene was enjoying a siesta back at the condo. I twirled, spun, dove and played in the water like a little kid. And it was fantastic.
Triumphantly I returned to dry land, feeling good about the moment I was in. I was wet, drying in the sun, surrounded by families and tourists enjoying themselves too. Surfers continued to battle waves for bragging rights. Kids raced to build sandcastles. And I simply relished my sandy toes.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
How Lucky Can One Gal Be?
I'm a party-crasher. Not ordinarily, but this week I am. Marlene was headed to Mexico, found a place that was "too big" for just her, and invited me to attend. OUCH! You're hurting me from all that arm-twisting!!
We arrived just in time for Easter (sorry Mom), and that also means just in time for Bright Week, the week that follows Easter in our faith. Spent in Seattle, Bright Week draws from its metaphorical roots. Here, it's much more literal. A glance at the photo attached to this post shouldn't make you feel sorry for us. I write to you from our terrace, with that view before me, listening to waves crashing, while in my swimsuit.
You might remember from previous posts that I have learned "wherever I go, there I am." Coming to a place I have never been has reminded about a particular moment that I want to share--the moment of initial discovery, that you can neither prepare for fully nor replicate as hard as you might try. It's the "Wow -- look at THAT!" moment.
Our modern day age of interwebs and digital images cannot capture this moment for us. No amount of photos seen in advance can prepare for the full sensory experience that "that moment" gives you. It's the "I've arrived!" moment. It's the "How did I get here?" moment. It's the stopandtakeabreath moment. Listen to the waves crash against the beach. Taste the salt on your tongue as you breathe it in from your nose, ever so slightly expanding your lungs to take in as much as you can. Feel the heat on your skin, even the sweat drip down your back. Notice the color around you. Touch weathered surfaces, and grin at the prospect of waking up to this in the morning.
This moment can only happen once. It comes after all those trips to Bartells, to department store dressing rooms, and to banks. It comes after sorting through magazines and novels. It comes after finding your passport, and holding it in your hand, feeling its weight, knowing it shall be required again soon. It comes after sorting through long since forgotten summer clothes. It comes after talking about it with your dear friend with wild excitement. It comes after all those arrangements are made. The byproduct of anticipation and realization, the moment bears the sweetest fruits around: discovery, exploration, relaxation, salt water, sunshine, tan lines, and fresh fruit popsicles shared with a dear friend.
Thank you, Marlene, for sharing this moment with and allowing it to happen for me. And Kendra, I can't wait for you to join us and watch your moment.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Back Inaction
My dad has many sayings, one of which is, "A clear sky is not afraid of storms." He obviously hasn't been in Greece recently.
I caught a cold. Actually my back caught a cold. In medicine, I am used to Western meeting Eastern ideologies, methods and practices, trying to find the balance between both mindsets. Here, it's more like Western meets Old World.
Last Thursday I met a family friend for coffee in the neighborhood she used to live in, Nea Smyrni. We met early, before noon, and I awoke to find blue sky. I did my daily routine, turn on the hot water heater, make coffee, enjoy it while overlooking the sea, and finish with a quick mopping of the inside and the veranda. (There is a lot of dust that accumulates, and depending on the direction of the wind--clouds can move in a different one each day--I've even cleaned up red sand from the veranda. They say that's the stuff that comes from Egypt.) I got dressed and made my way across the street for the 20 minute tram ride.
The main square or πλατεία in Nea Smyrni has overtime become pedestrian only. It's a lovely scene. The noise you hear is from people or the rare μηχανάκι making it's way, but never cars or their horns. It's tiered; the steps add their own dimension to the layout. In the center are aqua blue pools with working fountains, surrounded by seating areas of different cafes. Of course I love the free wifi (why is this not everywhere?). I also love that I see all ages here; there's something about that quality in a neighborhood that I really like. And there is lots of shopping nearby. I was urged to return at night to take in the lights (light show? light show?). All in all it's a great little city center and a perfect place to meet. We found a cafe overlooking a fountain, ordered our coffees, and started in on my favorite main course--good conversation.
And suddenly, we weren't sure what hit us. Neither was anyone else who was nearby. Frantic servers started flipping chair cushions. Older people scrambled for cover. Younger people, well they really didn't change their behavior much. We huddled over our table a bit closer as we watched the sky close and the rain beat down, straight down. I was wearing a white scarf, a black dress, red lips, and thankfully closed toe shoes. I did not remove my sunglasses.
As we continued to talk, what I hadn't realized was that my back was getting wet due to an opening in the umbrella. The rains would come in waves, pouring more down and then less. We wrapped the conversation. As soon as a break came, we bid each other farewell and off to the tram I went.
But I had plans for that day. I made them while on the veranda sipping coffee (that's also part of the routine). I was to walk home. It only takes about an hour, and I get to learn a new part of the city. I decided to hop the tram to escape the weather and get off early, weather permitting. At least I could stop by the grocery store and still get in a short walk. Athens isn't Paris, meaning that whatever amount of time you walk, you're bound to go up and down some hills. So I did. About an hour later, I got home, changed, and had lunch. And that night the pain set in. You'll pardon the pun, but that wasn't in the forecast.
It's now six days later. I'm lying on a bed with an electric heater between me and the sheets. I've never known the pain I've felt over the last several days. I cannot move easily. I cannot stand from being seated without pain and time. Σιγά σιγα is my only pace. I tried going for a walk on Saturday in the park behind my cousins' house. Uphill wasn't happening, so I threw it in reverse like a college tour guide to get myself to the nearest bench. Oh if only Athens had the poop scoop laws we have in the States--but I navigated expertly. My niece doesn't understand why I can't put her on my shoulders like we both enjoy; though she had no problems climbing on me while I lay prostrated on her couch (her dad called me her victim, but I was really just a sitting duck). Should I step uniquely, should the car I'm riding in come to a quick stop without my preparation, should I try to move as I am accustomed, I feel like someone is putting a dagger in my lower left back.
All because my back caught a cold.
My Does-It-All-Auntie took me to the doctor. In his 50s, Doc has liquid brown eyes and grey hair that had more salt than pepper. Showing grave concern for a young lady with no health issues, he performed tests. When he checked my reflexes, I actually giggled. He reassured me there's no problem with my central nervous system, but a set of local nerves have been agitated due to a muscle spasm. The muscle was the one that got wet last Thursday. He prescribed drugs. I'm taking them. I feel better. A few more days and I'll be at 100%.
I am reminded that my health is the most previous thing I have. I am lucky that this too shall pass. I am grateful that the only chronic condition I have is laughing too loud (my niece has reminded me of this more than once). I am blessed that this happened now and not in Paris, and that Do-It-All makes time in her day to make me comfortable. I know I'll be back in action soon. I guess dad was right. A clear sky really isn't afraid of storms.
I caught a cold. Actually my back caught a cold. In medicine, I am used to Western meeting Eastern ideologies, methods and practices, trying to find the balance between both mindsets. Here, it's more like Western meets Old World.
Last Thursday I met a family friend for coffee in the neighborhood she used to live in, Nea Smyrni. We met early, before noon, and I awoke to find blue sky. I did my daily routine, turn on the hot water heater, make coffee, enjoy it while overlooking the sea, and finish with a quick mopping of the inside and the veranda. (There is a lot of dust that accumulates, and depending on the direction of the wind--clouds can move in a different one each day--I've even cleaned up red sand from the veranda. They say that's the stuff that comes from Egypt.) I got dressed and made my way across the street for the 20 minute tram ride.
The main square or πλατεία in Nea Smyrni has overtime become pedestrian only. It's a lovely scene. The noise you hear is from people or the rare μηχανάκι making it's way, but never cars or their horns. It's tiered; the steps add their own dimension to the layout. In the center are aqua blue pools with working fountains, surrounded by seating areas of different cafes. Of course I love the free wifi (why is this not everywhere?). I also love that I see all ages here; there's something about that quality in a neighborhood that I really like. And there is lots of shopping nearby. I was urged to return at night to take in the lights (light show? light show?). All in all it's a great little city center and a perfect place to meet. We found a cafe overlooking a fountain, ordered our coffees, and started in on my favorite main course--good conversation.
And suddenly, we weren't sure what hit us. Neither was anyone else who was nearby. Frantic servers started flipping chair cushions. Older people scrambled for cover. Younger people, well they really didn't change their behavior much. We huddled over our table a bit closer as we watched the sky close and the rain beat down, straight down. I was wearing a white scarf, a black dress, red lips, and thankfully closed toe shoes. I did not remove my sunglasses.
As we continued to talk, what I hadn't realized was that my back was getting wet due to an opening in the umbrella. The rains would come in waves, pouring more down and then less. We wrapped the conversation. As soon as a break came, we bid each other farewell and off to the tram I went.
But I had plans for that day. I made them while on the veranda sipping coffee (that's also part of the routine). I was to walk home. It only takes about an hour, and I get to learn a new part of the city. I decided to hop the tram to escape the weather and get off early, weather permitting. At least I could stop by the grocery store and still get in a short walk. Athens isn't Paris, meaning that whatever amount of time you walk, you're bound to go up and down some hills. So I did. About an hour later, I got home, changed, and had lunch. And that night the pain set in. You'll pardon the pun, but that wasn't in the forecast.
It's now six days later. I'm lying on a bed with an electric heater between me and the sheets. I've never known the pain I've felt over the last several days. I cannot move easily. I cannot stand from being seated without pain and time. Σιγά σιγα is my only pace. I tried going for a walk on Saturday in the park behind my cousins' house. Uphill wasn't happening, so I threw it in reverse like a college tour guide to get myself to the nearest bench. Oh if only Athens had the poop scoop laws we have in the States--but I navigated expertly. My niece doesn't understand why I can't put her on my shoulders like we both enjoy; though she had no problems climbing on me while I lay prostrated on her couch (her dad called me her victim, but I was really just a sitting duck). Should I step uniquely, should the car I'm riding in come to a quick stop without my preparation, should I try to move as I am accustomed, I feel like someone is putting a dagger in my lower left back.
All because my back caught a cold.
My Does-It-All-Auntie took me to the doctor. In his 50s, Doc has liquid brown eyes and grey hair that had more salt than pepper. Showing grave concern for a young lady with no health issues, he performed tests. When he checked my reflexes, I actually giggled. He reassured me there's no problem with my central nervous system, but a set of local nerves have been agitated due to a muscle spasm. The muscle was the one that got wet last Thursday. He prescribed drugs. I'm taking them. I feel better. A few more days and I'll be at 100%.
I am reminded that my health is the most previous thing I have. I am lucky that this too shall pass. I am grateful that the only chronic condition I have is laughing too loud (my niece has reminded me of this more than once). I am blessed that this happened now and not in Paris, and that Do-It-All makes time in her day to make me comfortable. I know I'll be back in action soon. I guess dad was right. A clear sky really isn't afraid of storms.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Rhythms
Ever notice your own heart beating?
My uncle couldn't make it to his car from the house in the village. He's currently in the hospital waiting to have his pacemaker replaced. His daily rhythm was interrupted by his physical one. He passes time by completing crossword puzzles. Ever get a rush from unlocking that key word in a crossword? The one word that puts a spark in your brain setting off the rest? I delight on such a moment, so much so that I tune out nearly everything else.
Ever sit silently somewhere and just listen?
Bus doors slam open just after brakes scream. Cars rev out of first and into second shortly after lights turn green. A yiayia's gait is measured by the turn of the wheels on her shopping cart rolling behind her. Papous conversations are punctuated by the click-clack-click of a komboloi.
Ever notice the beach has it's own rhythm?
Waves hit the shore. Pickleball paddles talk to each other. Pop! Pop! Back. And forth. Foreigners try to sell you things. "Ne-rooow parka-looow. Ne-rooow parka-looow." "Mah-saz?" (Up on "Mah," down on "saz.") "Mah-saz?" It's The squeal of small children as they run in and out of the sea.
Ever consider your own rhythm?
My rhythm isn't so fine or granular. It starts with morning coffee on the veranda overlooking a sea (of cars) while contemplating the shape of the day. It'll include some writing and thinking. A midday "volta" allows me time to enjoy the sights, sun, or company of a relative--best case brings all three. A nap is ideal but not a given. An evening outing is always welcome. Remains of my day are weighed on the veranda, car-spotting, while enjoying the twinkling lights of Piraeus in the distance, the smell of salt water, and the moon overhead. It's reading myself to sleep.
My rhythm at home is very different from the one here (lack of a veranda is just the hors d'oeuvre). I'm just now beginning to see how my rhythm affects my mood. I like knowing that a pattern to my day makes it richer. And I like how I am coming to realize that getting back into my desired rhythm, regardless of locale, might be easier than I thought. Probably because now I'm aware of it.
Though that veranda sure does help.
My uncle couldn't make it to his car from the house in the village. He's currently in the hospital waiting to have his pacemaker replaced. His daily rhythm was interrupted by his physical one. He passes time by completing crossword puzzles. Ever get a rush from unlocking that key word in a crossword? The one word that puts a spark in your brain setting off the rest? I delight on such a moment, so much so that I tune out nearly everything else.
Ever sit silently somewhere and just listen?
Bus doors slam open just after brakes scream. Cars rev out of first and into second shortly after lights turn green. A yiayia's gait is measured by the turn of the wheels on her shopping cart rolling behind her. Papous conversations are punctuated by the click-clack-click of a komboloi.
Ever notice the beach has it's own rhythm?
Waves hit the shore. Pickleball paddles talk to each other. Pop! Pop! Back. And forth. Foreigners try to sell you things. "Ne-rooow parka-looow. Ne-rooow parka-looow." "Mah-saz?" (Up on "Mah," down on "saz.") "Mah-saz?" It's The squeal of small children as they run in and out of the sea.
Ever consider your own rhythm?
My rhythm isn't so fine or granular. It starts with morning coffee on the veranda overlooking a sea (of cars) while contemplating the shape of the day. It'll include some writing and thinking. A midday "volta" allows me time to enjoy the sights, sun, or company of a relative--best case brings all three. A nap is ideal but not a given. An evening outing is always welcome. Remains of my day are weighed on the veranda, car-spotting, while enjoying the twinkling lights of Piraeus in the distance, the smell of salt water, and the moon overhead. It's reading myself to sleep.
My rhythm at home is very different from the one here (lack of a veranda is just the hors d'oeuvre). I'm just now beginning to see how my rhythm affects my mood. I like knowing that a pattern to my day makes it richer. And I like how I am coming to realize that getting back into my desired rhythm, regardless of locale, might be easier than I thought. Probably because now I'm aware of it.
Though that veranda sure does help.
Friday, May 20, 2011
I No Longer Mind Weird Looks at the Grocer
Ladies who visited in '04, this one's for you!!
Imagine my surprise when I stumbled across this incentive: purchase coffee and get a sleeve of Oreo's for free! (BTW Oreo's are pronounced oh-REH-oss, like the Greek word ωραίο, for good/beautiful.) Πως μ'αρεσει να ξοδεβω τα λεφτά μου στην αγορά! Αφήστε με παρακαλώ!
Free gifts are commonly found in supermarkets here. Buy 5 cans of Coke, and get the 6th free!! But the coup of all such purchases was in 2004. Somewhere, Kendra has a photo of me making my way home with a case of Alfa beer--and a free backgammon board! Now if I could just find a suitable opponent....
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
"Το Φεγγάρι Κάνει Βόλτα..."
GeoTagged, [N37.92857, W23.68835]
The moon is full. So full in fact and so wonderfully bright that I can make out the horizon with no difficulty. Tonight's evening breeze swept away any clouds. I marvel at the clarity of Aegina's twinkling lights across the way. I sip Drambuie as I delight in this moment.
My dear cousin Vicky came down from the north end to meet up for dinner. I smile in anticipation of seeing her, because I know we are always going to have a good time. Tonight it was just the two of us. Αγκαζε, we checked out the marina. The boats--yachts rather--rocked gently in the bay. We wondered who can afford such extravagancies in a time of crisis. After touring our options, we settled on an Italian place.
Antonio seated us. And soon thereafter he joined us with his own seat, getting up from time to time to help other customers. He learned our names though he was partial to Vicky's ("Vicky, how is everything?" "Vicky, where do you work?" or "Vicky, don't go, I'll be right back..."). Vicky learned that he is from Torino. I learned that I could leave whenever I wanted.
What's wonderful about being here is the connection I feel to the people I know. Though there are many other great reasons, this is the lure that hooks. I saw this connection so many times over in the relationships my mom has, and now I am beginning to see it for myself. Vicky is good for me and to me because she listens, asks, and encourages in the absence of judgment. She helps keep me accountable to what I say I want for myself. And we laugh. This is what makes this relationship so special. Because for me, when we met as adults in 2000, we started as family and have since become close friends. As I become closer with other family members here, I delight in knowing what lies ahead: a friendship borne of blood and matured by will.
More to come...
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