Just Checking In

Sylvia and Dwight are still here, leaving early in the morning. We've been having a great time, but have been too busy to write it down! I will begin doing that on Monday and publish stuff as I'm able. Sylvia took a lot of pictures, so our trip "chronicles," as we've been calling them, will be illustrated for once, but not right away. Sylvia is going to send me a CD of the photos to my Richmond address and I'll add them later.

We spent 3 days in Athens, did the Acropolis/Parthenon, saw where St. Paul stood to preach to the Athenians, went to a fabulous museum, spent a day on the island of Aegina.

Then we spent a few days showing them around Thessaloniki, and finally, we spent two days at Kavala, the ancient Neapolis mentioned in Acts 16. We also toured the ruins of ancient Phillipi, acres and acres of them, including the town jail, the prison where St. Paul and St. Silas were held, which was opened by the earthquake, where the Philippian jailor was ready to commit suicide. We climbed around inside Kavala's castle, wandered along its aquaduct, did many other fun things.

Sylvia, as always, every trip I've ever been on with her (this being the fifth), made me walk at least 5 miles every single day, half of it uphill. We've now climbed the Glastonbury Tor (500 feet at a steep angle), Diamondhead, countless castles in England, our favorite being Tintagel, and now we've climbed the Acropolis and other hills here. (We've been up the Eiffel Tower together, too, but that was on an elevator. We only remembered, as the elevator doors were closing, how afraid we both are of heights...)

It takes a lot of calories to keep up that kind of pace, by the way. We were forced to replenish our calorie supply frequently! (Sylvia says we ate our way through Greece, and that's what she no doubt means.)

Kitty is still with us; once our guests leave I will begin a more concentrated campaign to find him a home. He thinks I'm his mother and tries to nurse on my ear.

More as soon as I can get to it, as in perhaps the day after tomorrow.

My Would-be Mugger

Monday, June 01, 2009

It was 9:30 at night, barely dark, and I wasn’t even carrying a purse, just my house keys and my flash drive, on my way to the Internet Café. I wasn’t expecting to be mugged.

He was waiting in the shadows, waiting and watching. When I came even with his hiding place behind a fence, he leapt at me. I spotted him a split second before and took a step backward. So instead of landing on me; he landed on the sidewalk in front of me.

I stared at my assailant. “Well! You are quite a dirty thing,” I said, in Greek so he’d understand.

“Niaou,” he replied, which is also Greek.

“And you’re not handsome, either.”

“NiAAAAou!”

“Kai esai poly mikro,” I said, “And you’re very small.” Much too small to try to mug anybody.

I tried to get away from him but no, he hasn’t going to let that happen; he could recognize a sucker when he saw one. He followed me, begging all the while, chanting a loud, plaintive little rhyme: “Niaou, niaou, niAAou! Dos mou kati na fao! ”Give me something to eat!” (Note for all you Greek students: Modern Greek, being an irrational language, lacks the dative case.)

Or at least that’s what I thought the little thug was saying.

Finally, knowing it was no good, I said, in Greek, “Come here.” So he did. And as I bent down toward him, he took a flying leap and grabbed me by the shoulder. He hunkered down, dug in his claws, and held on firmly as I walked. I could feel and hear him purring in my ear.

The night manager of the Internet Café said no, I could not just quickly check my e-mail, not with a kitten on my shoulder – or in my lap, either. never mind the creature was behaving very well. And no, he didn’t want any cat. As Ogden Nash, the humorist, once observed,

The trouble with a kitten is that
Eventually, it becomes a CAT.

Somehow I also remembered another little ditty of his:

If called by a panther,
Don’t anther.

So I went home and gave him some cat food from a new bag. He purred the whole time he ate.

We don’t have a litter box, so now what? I thought a few minutes and then remembered we have a huge pot out on the balcony, big enough to plant a tree in, and it is filled with potting soil. That would do until morning. I set the kitten in it. He just sat there. I took his paw and used it to scratch at the soil, and then he got the idea.

I found a very small ball of leftover yarn and made him a toy with it and we played until he was exhausted. Then we went to bed. I spread out a baby blanket at the foot of the bed and he liked that.

The nervy little guy attacked me twice more during the night. Once, my toe twitched and the next thing I knew, a prickly ball of fur had slammed into it. The other time, I got it between the eyes when I made the mistake of opening them. His philosophy is, if it moves, pounce!

He is only about 10 weeks old. He’s mostly white with not-very-symmetrical, dark gray markings. There’s gray on his head and back; his tail is all dark gray except for the white tip. His left eye has pink rims and his right eye has black, making his eyes appear to be different sizes. But what he lacks in looks, he certainly makes up in affection. He even comes when called, provided you call him in Greek. Comes running, every single time.

When he isn’t sleeping or attacking, he’s snuggling. As a matter of fact, such extreme friendliness is suspicious. I’ll bet he more or less belongs to somebody. I’ll ask around.

He’s taking a little catnap right now, leaving me free to type. I have no idea what I’ll do with him, either short-term (the rest of today, tomorrow) or long-term. Even if I didn’t have two cats back in Richmond that I already don’t know what to do with, and even if we were to do our homework and find out how to get him through customs when we get back to America, there’s still the fact that we’re planning to spend 10 days in England before that.

I will try my best to find him a home here, but if I don’t, he will have to go back where he came from.

Or else I will choose some dark night and slip him into the back yard of the cat-loving, retired pathologist who lives across from the Internet Café.

Stay tuned.


MINOR UPDATE: In the afternoon, I took kitty to Demetra, the nearest veterinarian, together with a fresh stool sample. I told her I was afraid he might have worms. Demetra unwrapped the foil, examined the specimen, and said, “Gemati.” Full (of worms). I thought you had to look under a microscope to tell that, and I thought you had to know what *kind* of worms, in order to give the right medicine, but what do I know?

Apparently she had a one-for-all kind of pill. She broke it in half and we gave it to him. She gave me the other half, to be administered “after three days”. Then she tried to spray some stuff between his shoulders. I haven’t seen any signs of any fleas, but may as well be careful.

The spray nozzle was stuck and the stuff wouldn’t come out, so Dr. Demetra unscrewed the top and poured some between the kitten’s shoulders. Poured rather more than I usually put between my cats’ shoulders, as in twice as much, accidentally, but again, what do I know? It’s probably Advantage or Revolution, and I’ve read those are very safe medicines. “They’ll all depart now,” she said, referring to both internal and external parasites.

Demetra took my phone number in order to let people know the cat is available.

She says he’s no more than 8 weeks old.

I paid my three Euros and left there with a kitten that has already learned he does not like veterinarians! It’s okay; she doesn’t particularly care for cats, either. She’s a dog person.

A Day in the Mountains

Sunday, May 31, 2009

After church, Chrysostomos and his wife, Roula, picked us up in their car and drove us off to the mountains. It was a bright, clear, very warm day, so perfect for the purpose.

The sweetness in Roula’s face matches the sweetness of her soul, so you can’t help loving and admiring her immediately, and feeling totally at ease in her presence, even if you wear make-up and she doesn’t. She doesn’t seem to need any, she’s so pretty. Her skin is clear and not wrinkled at all. Her eyes are bluish green and her medium-length, thick hair is white.

Our first objective was the Monastery of St. Anastasia the Pharmakolytria, my patroness. (“Pharmakolytria" means “Releaser from Poisons.” She knew how to make potions that cured people. She is depicted, in icons, with a flask in one hand.)

We passed through farmlands with wheat, through vineyards and olive groves and pretty villages, and on up into the hills, all green with heavy forestation. “All these woods,” said Chrysostomos, “were planted by the Junta.” Demetrios says those three dictators did mean well. They were dictators, which mustn’t be forgotten, who seized power in a coup, but most of the people wanted them to, thinking that would be better than the chaos in which the country had been for a long time. And the Junta apparently governed with the country’s best interests at heart (unlike the current government) and tried to do wise and wonderful things. The reforestation of the mountains here was one of those.

The Monastery of St. Anastasia is very ancient, built by a Byzantine Empress, St. Theophano. Her silver-plated icon is on the other side of the door of the narthex from the icon of St. Anastasia. Apparently this Empress later became a nun, but I’m not clear on the details of that story.

There was a baptism in progress when we arrived, of a gorgeous baby boy who received the name Evangelios. He will probably be called Vangelis, or perhaps Angelos.

The relics of Great Martyr Anastasia, her skull and some other bones, are near the entrance to the church, in a sliver box with a glass lid. The sign above the box notes the year of the Saint’s repose: 304. The skull is brown with age.

She was an outspoken saint. She was married to a very wealthy man who abused her terribly, and she used to pray he would either convert or die. He died. And when he did, the Emperor cast a lustful eye upon her. When she was brought before him, he demanded, “Honor the gods of your husband!”

To which she replied she already had; she had melted down their statues to prevent the pigeons from pooping on them. And with the metal, she had made coins, money with which she supported the Christians the Emperor had thrown into prison. You can see why she was a candidate for martyrdom.

Apparently – I didn’t know this – she still heals people, because next to her icon there is a horizontal iron bar, and hanging from that bar are “thank-you notes” from grateful people. These consist of very thin plates of silver, about 2 inches by 3 inches, each hammered to show an arm or a leg or a heart or some other body part. The ones showing babies healed by St. Anastasia are hung by either blue or pink ribbons. There must have been 60 of them. They brought tears to my eyes. I wished I had one to hang there, in her honor. But I’m not aware of any time she may have healed me of anything physical.

Up in the front of the church is a glass-covered casket containing the remains of St. Theonas, a bishop of Thessaloniki. Most of the body is covered with an embroidered cloth, but you can see one hand, complete with some of the skin and the cuff of his original vestments from the early 1500's.

Demetrios went and stood in the receiving line to congratulate the parents and godparents (which must have startled them some); the rest of us waited outside for him, admiring the view of the valley below and the other mountains across from it.

Our next stop was at a taverna Chrysostomos and Roula had heard about but never been to. We got a little lost, but on such a glorious day, with such scenery, getting lost was worth doing! At last, stopping to ask our way a few times, we arrived at the place, on the top of a mountain. It was a large taverna, with a long veranda, and wide, green lawns, a swimming pool, and two hot tubs, not yet filled with water.

We sat at an umbrella-covered table on the veranda for our meal. We watched the children funning and playing. A German Shepherd bitch of doubtful breeding ambled onto the lawn and rolled over onto her back, exposing enlarged teats; the children came to pet her. A mostly- Doberman bitch, similarly enlarged, followed her example. The children petted her, too. As Demetrios said, “Everybody is having fun, including the dogs!” We probably sat there enjoying the warm sunshine and cool breeze, for a couple of hours.

I asked Chrysostomos and Roula what about Greece’s dire political situation? Who, I asked, is going to tell the Greek people to wake up, to understand their government is selling their country out from under them? The army has been scaled back to nothing; military discipline has been relaxed until it is a joke; NATO has placed the defense of the Aegean Sea under the charge of a Turkish general; Turkey violates Greek air space every day with impunity; Mr. Obama called the Aegean Islands “The necklace of Turkey,” never mind they’re Greek, not Turkish. The Greek language is being undermined; Greek history has been revised so that now the textbooks in schools make it sound as though living under the Turks had been a joyous and desirable thing. And on and on; I could give you several more examples.

Roula said half the Greeks already know all this, so nobody really needs to tell them.

Chrysostomos replied by discussing the spiritual progress Greece has made in the past 50 years. A thousand people a day visit the Holy Mountain, he said. And it used to be that many villages didn’t have cantors for their churches; now every village has three or four young men who know Byzantine Chant and love singing it. There used to be only a very few confessors in Thessaloniki; now there are plenty, and people are going to confession a lot more often. In short, his reply was, “Put not your trust in princes, in sons of men, in whom there is no salvation.” He believes God will spare and protect Greece if and for as long as she remains faithful to Him.

I believe that, too. On the other hand, God helps him who helps himself. Why expect God to do it all if the Greeks themselves are not willing to lift a finger? Isn’t that rather presumptuous? But I didn’t ask.

St. Paisios prophesied that the Greeks would retake Constantinople. So did St. Kosmas, I believe. Well, neither of them has ever been wrong in his predictions before. St. Kosmas, a contemporary of George Washington, predicted the people would fly around like birds, “and drop fire upon one another from the air.” He also said people would one day be able to speak to one another from far away and hear one another as clearly as if they were in adjoining rooms.

Oh, and by the way, Alexander the Great made his appearance in the conversation. Last weekend, I was teasing Kostas and Demetrios. I was sitting with them on Kostas’ balcony, listening to their conversation, and during a lull I said, “I haven’t heard mention of Great Alexander yet.”

Why should you, they wanted to know? Well, I always do, in any discussion of Greek history. Oh, that’s nonsense, they said, not so.

But it is. It wasn’t half an hour later they were using Great Alexander’s military strategies as an example of something. And today his name came up again, as it virtually always does. You could safely bet money upon it. This is Macedonia, Alexander’s home, and nobody here ever forgets that. Alexander the Great is very much alive in the inhabitants’ memories and imaginations. He founded this city, naming it after his beloved sister, Thessaloniki (“Victory of Thessaly”), and both their portraits and their names show up regularly in hotels, restaurants, posters, lectures, political speeches, etc.

Roula told us a story about St. John the Russian. His remains are in a church on some Greek Island she and Chrysostomos visited. Now his body, although blackened from the time the Turks tried to burn it, is otherwise more or less incorrupt, but his vestments go bad and need changing about every five years. Roula and Chrysostomos happened to be visiting during the time when the vestments were to be changed, and the priest of the church there told them this story. He said that during the time of his predecessor, the bishop had come to participate in the changing of the Saint’s vestments, and the bishop worried aloud how they were going to do it without the whole body perhaps falling apart. The priest told him, “Be patient and you will see how it is done.”

So they placed a sheet under the body and gently placed it on the floor. And then, the corpse sat up and stretched out its arms, making the removal of the old vestments and the slipping on of the new very easy. When it was done, the remains lay back down.

After our leisurely meal, we drove back down the mountains, most of the way, back through the farms and vineyards and orchards, past Manolis’ and Vasilea’s place, to Chrysostomos’ and Roula’s little spread. It’s three Greek acres, which is something less than three American acres. There are to large houses on it. Chrysostomos and Roula live on the ground floor of one; their son and his wife and four children live on the top two floors. The other house is occupied by their daughter and son-in-law and their four children. There is a vineyard, an olive orchard, a vegetable garden. There are several adult turkeys and 15 turkey chicks, rabbits of all sizes and ages, and there used to be sheep and goats. There are cherry trees, fig trees, almond and walnut trees.

We sat at an outdoor table next to the vineyard and had a little supper. (!) Roula brought what looked like spanikopita, but the filling was of meat instead of spinach, followed by tsoureki (Pascha bread, sweet), followed by candied figs and limes.

The children, having lived several years in England, all spoke very good English and were quite charming.

Ah, what an idyllic life! Isn’t there some Bible verse about sitting in peace under your own tree and your own vine, surrounded by your children and your children’s children? Isn’t that in the wedding rite? Well, that’s exactly the blessing this couple enjoys. It has come true for them. And everybody is happy. The children have three acres to run around in, plus the panoramic views of the mountains. They learn how to tend the vineyard and grow grapes, how to prune the trees and grow olives and the rest, how to care for poultry and rabbits, how to plant and maintain vegetable gardens, how to make fig jam and cherry jam, and a jillion other things. They have their cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents on the same property.

The other four of Chrysostomos’ children are monastics, three nuns and a monk. One of them is the identical twin of Christina, mother of four of the children. She confirms what a special bond identical twins share, says there is nothing like it. Asked whether she gets to see her twin sister often, she replied, “No, unfortunately, not often at all. Only once a month and I count myself lucky.”

I also asked how they manage to keep the fruit away from the birds. “Ahhhh,” said Roula, “We beat them to it!” They watch it carefully and decide exactly when to pick it, ahead of the birds. The magpies, Roula says, can open the walnuts and the almonds. Chrysostomos adds that they also pierce his garden hose with their beaks when they are thirsty.

By the time Roula offered us some of her homemade fig ice cream, we were so full we had to decline. We were also getting chilly in the evening air, so they drove us home, first loading us with gifts: olives from their own trees, dried plants that smell like lemons and make wonderful tea, and 9 roses “for your house”.

We are simply going to have to have a party at our house to thank everyone. Actually, given that it is such a small house, we are going to have to have two parties. I think maybe we’ll wait until Sylvia and Dwight are here, so they can also meet our other dear, dear friends.

EEK!

I wrote that Sylvia and Dwight were coming in about 3 weeks, but I misunderstood. They will arrive in Athens on Wednesday morning -- that's tomorrow! We will spend Wednesday and Thursday and part of Friday in Athens, returning here by the scenic route; viz., by train sometime Friday.

Lots to do in the meanwhile.

I may not post for several days, although I've scheduled a couple of things to post automatically between now and then.

We are going to hve a BALL!

Friends and Neighbors

Friday, May 29, 2009

George the carpenter came in the morning. He says something else has come up for Monday and could we postpone the installation of our new kitchen sink/cabinets/drawers until Thursday. Yes, we can. The plumber agrees to come then. He has to come twice, once to disconnect the old sink, and later to connect the new. George, meanwhile, re-measured a few things a few more times, despite the fact that the work is all done except for the installation. I know for a fact it is, because we went to his shop to inspect it a few days ago. George showed us everything about it, proudly. He has even put on it a removable kickboard, so I can clean under the cabinetry!

Thomai, our downstairs neighbor, came later to visit. She had just been to confession, and was relating all the wonderful advice the priest had given her. It’s interesting how, when you’ve truly repented of your sins, you don’t mind other people knowing them. Well, that doesn’t mean telling everything is wise or prudent, but you lose much of the embarrassment.

Then she told us us, with great pleasure, all about the new, double-paned windows she and Zisis have had installed in their house in their village. The same man is going to replace their windows here, she said. He had quoted them a price that was just over half what anybody else has quoted us. So we said when he comes, please let us know so we can talk to him.

An hour later, Zisis came to say the window man was on his way. We phoned Demetrios, who was with Christos at their favorite kafenion and café, and he came right home. The man measured our windows. Zisis stipulated that we must keep the old shutters, to maintain the external appearance of the building. As he is the building “super”, his word goes. No problem.

Demetrios is now deciding if he wants to spend the money now or wait a while until we save up a bit more of it.

I went with him when he returned to the café and to Christos, and we all had supper there.

Christos drove us home, and as we arrived, I noticed that Vasiliki was back at her fruit stand after an absence “for reasons of health” of more than a month. The stand wasn’t open, but she was setting up some of the non-perishables, such as jams and honey, that she also sells.

“There’s Vasiliki!” I yelped. So after we had said goodbye to Christos, we went to see her.

Turns out she has problems with the disks in her spine, and so does Anestis. His pain is in his legs and neck, hers is only in the legs. The doctor told them to change jobs, as things like potatoes and onions and melons are heavy, “But what else are we supposed to do? This is what we know.” Then she invited us to have a cup of coffee with her across the street. We were tired, but this definitely seemed the thing to do, so we sat there with her for half an hour. We told her how worried we had been, how we had prayed for her, and she almost cried. She’s another one like Thomai, who does whatever she does with her heart, and her whole heart, too.

Shed said, as we left, “Truly, from my soul, it seems to me we are brother and sisters.”

It seems that way to us, too.

Hint from Helen for Husbands, Wives, and Teens

And Anyone Else Who Pulls this Gaffe

When you arrive much, much later than your parents or spouse expected you and you didn’t phone, either, to say you’d be late and when you were coming, there is only one correct thing to say, and that is, “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

That may not get you very far because of course it begs the question: “If you know enough to be sorry now, why didn’t you know enough just to call earlier and skip the being sorry? If you know you shouldn’t do it again, why did you do it this time?” If you receive this kind of response, admit right away that you have no excuse. And you really haven’t, face it, because how are you going to describe, plausibly, how you couldn’t manage to get your phone out of your purse or pocket and take a few moments to make that call and you couldn’t use any of your friends’ cell phones, either? No, any excuse you give will backfire. (“I forgot,” for example, only invites a parent to respond, “Well, let’s make sure you don’t forget again. You’re grounded!”)

Simply say, “I’m sorry,” and be sure to add, “It won’t happen again.” This may not get you off the hook, but it may help a little. It’s also the one and only thing that at least will not get you in deeper.

P.S.) Above all, do not remind the other party that since you did have your cell phone, he/she/they could also have called you.

House Tour

Sylvia and Dwight, my dear friends, are planning to be here in about three weeks, and to spend 13 days with us. I'm so excited I think about it all the time! In the process, I dreamed up this little tour of our tiny apartment here in Greece. Well, not so little, but I thought you might enjoy it if you have time for a rather lengthy post.

Here are your keys to the house. The small one opens the front door downstairs, the door to the building. The other key, the skeleton key, opens the apartment door.

The front hallway, or rather, the hallway, period, is of genuine, cut and polished, burgundy and white concrete aggregate. All the other rooms, as you can see at a glance, open onto it. The radiator is an example of the brand new heating system the government here mandated a couple of years ago. Whereas before, our building’s wise and fearless president used to decide when the communal heating would be turned on in the fall, now each apartment controls how much heat to use.

The two chests of drawers in the foyer are part of the apartment’s original furnishings. The smaller of the two mirrors, the one above the chest of drawers on the right, in that crummy-looking gilt frame, is a family treasure, because it is one of the few things that came with the family when they were forced to flee from Constantinople. (We do not call that city ‘Istanbul.’ Mostly we just call it, “The City”.)

The copper pot which now contains silk flowers is another family treasure. It is engraved with the words, “Anastasia, 1893”. Anastasia was Demetrios’ grandmother. The pitcher, which is actually copper-coated tin, was probably a wedding present. The icons are of the Anastasis (Resurrection), for the lady of the house, and of Great Martyr Demetrios, patron saint of this city, for the man of the house. The other icon is of Christ as He looked when he appeared to one of our local saints, Fr. Paisios; it is a print of one painted by nuns under his direction.

To your right as you enter the apartment is the bathroom. If you’ll just walk on past me, I think we can probably fit two at a time in the bathroom.

The bathroom is a work in progress, but considerable progress has been made.

The sink is original. The tap is new, although of course you cannot tell this from the condition of the supposedly stainless steel.

The shower is also new in the past couple of years. It replaces a half tub that used to sit here [point]. It took two weeks to remove it and install the shower, two weeks in which we had to keep clean by means of sponge baths. The tile in the shower is meant to contrast with the tile on the walls. It is, however, the same size and shape in order to line up correctly. You will note that it does not line up correctly, but that is too long a story for this tour. It doesn’t much matter because some day we are going to rip out all the tile and put in something wild and fun.

The toilet, unlike the original one, does not leak. It looks American but is not. This means whatever is put in it has an approximately even chance of landing in water or on bare porcelain. Note the brush kept handy to avoid embarrassment. Also note that you usually need to flush twice.

Greek plumbing systems are not built to accommodate toilet paper; hence, the wastebasket beside it.

The new washing machine also does not leak. It has 18 different programs you can select. Nearly all of them take two and a half hours. This Italian model heats its own water and cleans clothes better than any clothes washer I’ve ever owned in America. It can also spin at the rate of 1,000 revolutions per minute, or three times as fast as a typical machine in America. You don‘t want to spin most clothes that fast, however, as you will never get the wrinkles out if you do.

The window is new. The old one was of louvered glass and couldn’t be tightly closed in winter. It also lacked framing, so all the insides of the walls showed. We’ve had this elegant little thing put in just in time for your arrival. It can open a little, or it can tilt in a lot, for cleaning.

Now if you’ll come two steps in this direction, you’ll be in the bedroom. The combination wardrobe and linen closet on your right was custom made for the spot in which it sits. The top drawer contains towels and washcloths. The middle drawer contains bed linens, and the bottom drawer contains table cloths and assorted pieces of crochet, needlepoint, and embroidery. Blankets and pillows are on the top, together with several large pieces of beautiful fabric we think were woven by Demetrios’ grandmother. One of them is the blanket in which he was wrapped as a baby.

The nearly king-sized, extra-long bed with mirrored headboard and matching nightstands is also custom made for this space; as you see, it takes up most of it. At the foot of the bed, you can pull out a double drawer, and if you lift here [demonstrate] the whole mattress assembly lifts up, revealing that the entire space under the bed is a storage box. After you have unpacked, we’ll put your luggage here.

A question? Oh, yes, that tall piece of furniture behind the door that looks like a stack of small drawers is actually a shoe rack. We take off our shoes and wear slippers in the house. The laundry hamper is further behind the door, on the other side of the shoe rack.

Notice the little chandelier. Like the others in the house, it is of brass and is very ornate and old-fashioned looking. They aren’t actual antiques, but they are so old they are probably unique by now, so they have been left here just because they’re rather interesting, in our opinion.

The sliding glass door on the other side of the bed opens onto the balcony, which we will tour shortly. The window opposite the bed looks straight into several other people’s kitchens.

Our own kitchen is our next stop, if you’ll move four steps to your right as you exit. That’s not dirt on the kitchen floor; that’s the color of the tiles, white and gray – or at least that’s their color now. They will be replaced in due course.

The bare bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling is going to have a good-looking shade some day.

The sink and countertop are brand new, installed just in time for your visit.

As you know, there is an international convention about water taps: the hot is on the left and the cold is on the right. Here in this kitchen, it’s backwards, but the tap is marked accordingly, so if you’ll check this little blue and red symbol here, you won’t be confused.

One thing that is expensive in Greece is energy, so we use as little hot water as possible, and as little energy as we comfortably can. That doesn’t mean we take cold showers or sit around perspiring instead of turning on the air conditioning – we’re all on vacation here! We aren’t going to make ourselves miserable. But we’re careful, is all. We don’t dawdle in the shower or keep lights on in empty rooms and so forth.

The refrigerator is original and serves to keep food for up to three days – four, if you remember to defrost regularly.

The stove is also original. It has four burners, each a different size. The tiny one is for brewing Greek coffee. The oven temperatures are of course marked in Centigrade; check the Internet for conversion charts. The burners have two settings, “off” and “high”. One burner has a deluxe additional feature, which is the ability to select among six different temperatures.

The sliding glass door opens, as you can see, onto the balcony, and you can probably see the clotheslines just on the other side of the balcony. We don’t need clothes dryers here; the sun dries our laundry very quickly, within half an hour in summer.

The icon box next to the door contains an icon of Christ and a very special icon of His Mother, the story of which we can discuss after the tour.

The collection of bright and/or decorated bottles on the top of the wall cabinets is to hide two copper pipes that are a part of the new heating system. You can still catch glimpses of those copper pipes where the bottle collection is incomplete.

Now if you’ll step across the hall into the living room.

The reproduction French provincial sofa, loveseat, and chairs with the royal blue upholstery were bought for Demetrios’ mother some 30 years ago, but are still serviceable.

The fine pieces of crochet, worked by his mother or grandmother, distract attention from the furniture under them, which is pure, authentic junk.

The hardwood parquet flooring is mostly intact and only missing its finish in less than half a dozen places. It will be refinished or replaced in time.

The wall unit is a combination china hutch, wine rack, bookcase, and entertainment center.

The television gets some 20 channels and the use of the remote will be demonstrated later. You can usually find some American shows with Greek subtitles.

The old Singer sewing machine is our third and last family treasure, brought from Constantinople, together with the pitcher and the mirror. It is still threaded and it works fine.

Do I hear a question? Oh. How do we clean the curtains? Good question, as the ceilings are so high. As you see, we have only sheer curtains in every room. If we need privacy, we use what we call the “shutters,” which are siding doors, behind the glass ones, of perforated metal. Well, the curtain rods in each room can actually be lowered by a pulley. Then you simply unhook the curtains and toss them in the washing machine.

Any more questions? The picture above the sofa? That’s a needlepoint landscape, worked by Demetrios’ mother. This apartment was hers.

As you see, this room also has a door to the balcony, which begins here. If you’ll just step through the sliding door…

Five stories below you, as you exit from the living room, is Gambetta Street. It’s a semi-major thoroughfare in this part of town because it’s relatively long. Over there on the corner is the butcher, and around the corner from him is the nearest pharmacy. The general store is on our side of the street, so hard to see without leaning over awfully far. It has coffees of every description and they grind the coffee for you. It also has a bakery and a good wine cellar. Now if you’ll kind of scrunch around the corner of the building, the balcony continues. That’s Maria’s house, straight across on the same level. She’s a childhood friend of Demetrios’.

Now we are overlooking Baron Hirsch street. (Hirsch because this used to be a Jewish neighborhood, before the War.) That place over there is a taverna, or pub. It has good food. The park below us is a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it puts distance between us and other buildings, so we aren’t looking out our windows straight into someone else’s. On the other hand, the park is a gathering place, late at night, for teenagers, motorcyclists, and drunks. (You did remember to bring your ear plugs, didn’t you?) That’s the bar, over on the far side.

This little area of the balcony, where you see the little table and chairs, is where we have breakfast, weather permitting. We’ve bought new chairs, just for you. Over there at the other end of the balcony, around this corner, is the utility area, where we keep a step-ladder, clothespins, mop and broom and the like.

Now we’ll conclude our tour with the sitting room, which doubles as a guest bedroom. If you’ll come with me back around the corner and through the door just before the one leading to the living room.

The sofa is new, and it converts to a bed simply by removing the back cushions. Then, under it is a trundle bed, which slides out – thus – and as you see, the trundle pops up to the same level as the sofa, so you can make them into one big bed or use them as twin beds, or even wheel the trundle bed into the living room if you wanted to. Those are “orthopedic” mattresses, very comfortable.

We bought extra lengths of the same fabrics used in the sofa and cushions to recover these easy chairs and ottomans someday. Oh, by the way, the seats of the chairs lift off, and you can put your bedding in there during the day. The tops of the ottomans also lift off for more storage. There are coat hooks with hangers behind the door.

We hope you will be very comfortable and cozy here, and will enjoy your stay as much as we will. Welcome!

A Hint from Helen for Husbands

The man who decides to save his wife the trip and does the grocery shopping for her is a dear, a darling, a considerate, a thoughtful, a wonderful husband.

But if ye would be perfect – Helen assumes this to be the case – check with your wife first. Get a list from her and, with rare exceptions, stick to it. Do not make your shopping a surprise, because the surprise may be on you.

You go to the fruit and vegetable man and you buy:

10 tomatoes, because they are your favorites
10 bananas, because they are her favorites
a kilo of green beans because the ones you had last week were so great
a cantaloupe
8 red peppers to roast in the oven
8 navel oranges
a bag of onions.

You manfully pass up your other favorite, cherries, hoping the price will come down some.

You pay your 6 Euros and bring the goodies home, only to discover that your wife has also been to the same fruit and vegetable man (Does he even know you’re married to each other?) and she has already bought:

5 tomatoes to add to the 3 she already had
6 bananas because they are her favorite
half a kilo of green beans, because the ones you had last week were so great
6 peppers, already roasting in the oven
6 navel oranges
a bag of onions
2 baking potatoes
a half kilo of cherries because they are your favorite

So now youhave 18 tomatoes, 16 bananas, 14 peppers, 14 navel oranges, two bags of onions, 5 pounds of green beans, a half kilo of cherries, a cantaloupe, potatoes, and there’s still the mousmouli to eat up; see below.


Mousmouli

That’s pronounced “moose-MOO-lee”. What is it? Darned if I know. Some sort of fruit that grows on trees. George, the carpenter, brought us a small bag of them this morning; they are from his own tree in his village. (No, he hasn’t yet installed our new kitchen counter/drawers/sink because he hasn’t yet received the laminate to put on the top. But it’s otherwise all built and should be ready in two or three more days. He measured a few things a few more times while he was here, and put the new knobs on the upper cabinets.)

Mousmouli. It’s a fruit about the size and shape and color of an apricot, but with smooth skin, not fuzzy. Its texture is like a grape. It looks fairly appetizing, and people do eat it plain. But it is very sour, rather like eating a raw cranberry.

Okay, well, we know what to do with cranberries, don’t we? Boil them with a little orange juice and a little water and a lot of sugar. Oh, and that tangerine liqueur might be good in the mix; it isn’t fit for anything else, heaven knows. Maybe a hint of nutmeg. Yes, and another hint of cinnamon…there! Delicious! It doesn’t congeal like cranberry sauce, but if you wanted to, you could add a little flour or cornstarch. Hmm, and with a little butter, we could have a delicious pie! Rather like rhubarb pie, perhaps. Meanwhile, the stuff I boiled up will make a great ice cream topping. Will go buy some ice cream later today from the corner shop.

“Look what I made with the mousmouli!” I said, delightedly, to Demetrios. “Have a taste; it’s wonderful!”

Another hint for husbands from Helen: It is not prudent to ask, “Did you remove the pits?”

UPDATE: I got the name of the fruit wrong. It's mousmoula, pronounced, "MOOSE-moo-lah."

The Cry of the Seagull

Sunday, May 24, 2009

There’s a taverna (pub) across the street from us named, “The Cry of the Seagull” and that name, after today, takes on a whole different meaning. (Okay, so technically there’s no such creature as a “seagull.” There are Laughing Gulls and Herring Gulls and this kind and that kind of gull, all sea birds, but none bears the redundant name of “seagull.” I use the term because I don’t yet know what species of gull we have here in Thessaloniki.)

At six o’clock this morning (Sunday) a neighbor of ours named Christos, who is Elpida’s father-in-law, walked out onto his balcony to see why the seagulls were making such a ruckus.

The gulls here have a weird call in any case; they always do sound strange. But today was different. Today the gulls were very agitated and making all kinds of even stranger cries.

Christos stayed out on his balcony, watching the birds, long enough to smoke a cigarette, then walked back into his apartment and told Soula, his wife, “There’s going to be a seismos.”

Oh, yes, you do know what a seismos is, because you know the words, “seismic” and “seismograph”, right?

What to do? Get out of Dodge? Not really, because, well, on account of seagulls? Plus, you never know whether you’ll be going farther or nearer wherever the epicenter of the quake will be.

That’s what they did, though; they got out of town, bringing Soula’s sister, Demetra, with them. They didn’t do it immediately, not to be alarmists or anything, but in the evening they set out for Nea Syllata, where we were, to help us continue the celebration of Kostas’ nameday.

That's why they were out of town when the quake hit Thessaloniki.

We didn’t feel anything in Nea Syllata, 30 miles away, and neither did they, because they were in the car en route to us, but they heard about it on the car radio. It was a 5.1, not too shabby a quake, either.

So we all sat around, over Mena’s homemade pizza, followed by tiramisu, and traded earthquake stories and then storm stories.

Soula and Demetra told us of a hailstorm that once hit their village. They said it was very narrowly focused; it struck the village but not the surrounding fields, where it would have killed everybody working in them. They said the hail destroyed all the roof tiles of all the houses. That let in the rain, which was falling copiously. The rain soaked the reeds and plaster which are under a traditional Greek roof, and everybody’s ceilings caved in. The villagers took refuge wherever they could, mainly in a warehouse their father owned.

While watching the television, we noted there was also some sort of catastrophe in Florida, but we didn’t get the details because of all the surrounding noise of the party.

At about 11:30 we packed up and all went home to make sure everything was okay.

“Oh, it knocked over our lamp!” said Demetrios. But no, I had laid that lamp across my pillow to prevent the breeze knocking it over. (We leave windows open in this weather.) Our building, and our apartment, are fine, and we think everybody else’s are fine, too.

The townspeople are now waiting to see whether there will be any aftershocks – or whether today’s event may have been only a prelude.

Lord, have mercy!

UPDATE: There was an aftershock, I'm told, later the same evening. We still weren't in town yet; we came an hour later. Apparently, the aftershock was a very minor affair.

If It Works, Grab It

There are elections coming up here, to determine who will represent Greece in the European Union’s parliament. And what do you think the left-wing party’s campaign themes are? Change! Hope! And, “Yes, we can!”

Feast of Sts. Constantine and Helen

Friday, May 22

Today we celebrated Kostas’ nameday and that of his little grandson, Konstantinos. It wasn’t much of a big deal, as the main celebration is going to be in their village, Nea Syllata, over the weekend.

Demetrios went to a bookstore downtown, where he ran into Manolis’ sister, Eirini (Irene). He mentioned he was in search of a good book about St. Constantine for Kostas, and Eirini said, “I’ve just bought this one for another Kostas,” showing it to him. “I’ve read it. It’s excellent. It shows how, despite what some people say, St. Constantine was a very great Christian, a very great saint, and a very great man.”

“Oh, then, I’ll get the same one.”

“Take this one,” she said.

“Oh, no, I’ll just…”

“Take it!” and she thrust it into his hand.

And that’s how Kostas received a book inscribed to him “from Anastasia, Demetrios, and Eirini.”


Saturday, May 23, 2009

There’s a weird way certain villages in Greece celebrate the feast of Sts. Konstantinos and Eleni, that we watched on television today. It is to walk over hot coals. That is, people don’t exactly walk over the hot coals; they dance over them, slowly, clutching icons, and when their feet are not burned, they claim it is a miracle.

There’s a two-day preparation the participants undergo. It’s secret, so we don’t know any details, but it involves going into a trance. (And dancing, to monotonous drums, helps.)

The Church has tried to wipe out this very pagan-feeling custom, but without success.

A Praying Parrot?

Father Porphyrios had a small parrot that he taught to pray in order to illustrate the absurdity of some Christians’ empty repetition of the words of prayer, as well as the ridiculousness of the opinion commonly presented in Eastern relgions that someone can make moral advances by physical exercises of breathing techniques. Every so often, the parrot would mechanically say, “Lord, have mercy.” The elder would respond, “Look, the parrot can say the prayer, but does that mean that it is praying? Can prayer exist without conscious and free participation of the person who prays?”


The Gurus, the Young Man, and Elder Paisios, by Dionysios Farasiotis (St. Herman of Alaska Brotherhood, Platina, California.)

Elder Paisios in the Light of the Transfiguration

One day…when I was leaving Elder Paisios’s cell, I recalled something that was troubling me and I mentioned it to him: “Elder, that yogi, Niranjan, was able to produce a light.” “:What kind of light?” he asked. “Once, when we were all sitting around him, his body suddenly started to give off a golden-yellowish light in the form of a continually expanding sphere, which eventually engulfed us all. I wasn’t the same afterwards – it altered my way of thinking. What was that light?”

Without saying a word, the elder gently lifted up his hand and placed it on my head. Suddenly, the entire yard was flooded with a light that welled forth from the elder and could be seen in all directions. It was as powerful as a flash of lightning, but it was continuous, showing no sign of passing away. Although it was intense, it didn’t hurt my eyes. On the contrary, I couldn’t get my fill of looking at this sweet, immaterial, noetic light. And, although the light was supernatural and rare – not like a white light, but more like glass, or water – there was still something so very natural about it that it didn’t startle me, but instead granted me a profound sense of joy. This light was all-embracing and intoxicating, yet it left my movements peaceful and my mind extremely lucid. Although I was absorbed by the vision of this light, I continued to see my natural surroundings. My five senses continued to function normally, while alongside of them another sense, a spiritual kind of vision, had begun to function as well. Although it was around noon and the sun was shining brightly, when the immaterial light began to emanate from Father Paisios, the sun’s light seemed weak by comparison, like that of the late-afternoon sun.

I didn’t say a word, but I understood many things. Afterwards, when I reached the Monastery of Koutloumousiou, the monks could see that I was deeply changed and asked me, “You’re coming from Father Paisios, aren’t you?” I nodded my head. This experience left a mark on my soul that I can still feel twenty years later, even though the intensity of my feelings waned within a few days. It left my soul with a sweet peace, which deeply changed me in a mystical, hidden way.

Truly, if I had remained ignorant of the light that came forth from the elder, I would have remained impressed by the enchanting light of the yogi – which was, in fact, truly remarkable. But after my experience, I naturally made the comparison between the light of Niranjan and the light of the elder. These two lights were as vastly different as an old piece of tin differs form a bar of solid gold, as falsehood differs from truth, and as man differs from God. The elder’s invincible light not only surpassed the light of the yogi, but it utterly prevailed over it. … words just weren’t sufficient to grant me true understanding, so he had granted me this spiritual gift so that I could understand the difference by experience.

Once, when I was speaking with the elder about the lights that one sees during meditation, he told me, “We don’t want to see those kinds of lights, so we turn away from them. When I was at the hermitage of Saint Epistimi in the Sinai desert, I would leave my cave at night and go to pray at a neighboring peak … One night, when I had walked a few steps from the cave, there appeared a light as bright as a spotlight that illuminated the whole region as though it were day. I realized that it was from the evil one and said to myself, ‘I don’t want to see that kind of light,’ and I returned back to the cave.”

The Gurus, the Young Man, and Elder Paisios, by Dionysios Farasiotis (St. Herman of Alaska Brotherhood, Platina, California, 2008, pp. 258-260)

The Drunken Duck

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Within one block of where we live are all sorts of business establishments, including but not limited to: two car repair shops and the antikleptika shop (anti-theft devices for car or motorcycle), a butcher, a baker, a pharmacy, a taverna, George the carpenter, a general store with wine cellar, a greengrocer, a paint and hardware shop – and a bar, whose patrons seem to arrive mostly by motorcycle, with a sign above the door in English: “The Drunken Duck”, which seems very appropriate.

Demetrios used to pray that the place would close, as it is one factor that keeps us awake nights. But gradually we have become reconciled to the noise and it seems, most of the time, like just part of life here. I wear ear-plugs at night and Demetrios moves to the other room if he can’t sleep.

But last night, for the first time we’ve known, a full-fledged barroom brawl broke out, and it appears absolutely everybody in the bar became involved. The shouting and cursing were formidable. Then it spilled out into the streets, as two men (bouncers? friends?) forced a third man out and tried to keep him away from some others who followed, all wanting to fight. Some woman got into the fracas, too, begging the men to cease and desist, but her loud bleating was drowned out.

Don’t bars keep their patrons in order around here? Aren’t policemen supposed to arrive at some point, when the mêlée has gone on so long? I don’t know.

The weather was miserable, as much for the humidity as for the heat, even past midnight. Maybe that contributed to the fight.

I had been standing on the balcony watching all this and was turning the corner of the balcony (which wraps around two sides of our apartment) when I nearly collided with someone: Demetrios, coming from the other direction. I’m not sure who scared whom the more; we both startled. Then we laughed and stood there together for a minute or two, watching the fray below.

A large, red motorcycle was parked directly under us and it was already well past midnight. Who knew when that engine would rev up and the drunken owner roar off home?

“I had a fantasy of dropping my glass on it,” I said, raising my water glass.

“I had a better thought,” said Demetrios. “A bottle of olive oil!”

We stood in silence for a few delicious moments.

I said, “Can you imagine both of us having to confess that, about a month or two from now, when we began to think maybe we were sorry? And the priest would say, ‘My child, what were you thinking?’”

“And I know what you’d say. You’d say you obviously weren’t thinking.”

“And you’d say, ‘It seemed the thing to do at the time.’”

That’s a line from our favorite short story by our favorite humorist (P.G. Wodehouse, “The Bishop’s Move”), so we had a good laugh and went inside.

We closed up the house and turned on both air conditioners. The new one, in the bedroom, is nearly noiseless unless you turn up the fan’s speed, so we did. With the windows closed, the temperature lowered, the humidity removed, air conditioner’s motor humming, the ear-plugs, and the sleeping pill, I heard nothing, and managed to get a very fine and badly needed sleep. Demetrios says he did, too.

That new air conditioner is worth its weight in gold

Emphysema is a Progressive Disease

Monday, May 18, 2009

“Well, I’ll go and have coffee with Christos now,” said Demetrios. “Do you want to come?”

“No thanks,” I said. “I’ll stay home and play Happy Housewife. You have fun.”

“I’m just trying to keep him alive.”

“Keep him alive, oh, give me a break! It isn’t as though Christos were going to – ” But the look in his eyes made me stop. I just stared at him.

“Is he really that unwell?”

“Yes.”

Okay, Demetrios is a doctor. So he knows whereof he speaks. But he never speaks this way, ever.

“But didn’t he just get a good report from his lung specialist and from the CT scan? Didn’t he tell us his emphysema hasn’t gotten worse since the last scan a couple of years ago?”

“Well, he likes to think that way about it. “But can’t you see for yourself? He’s fading away.”

It’s true. It’s the first thing we noticed when we arrived in Greece; we said he was looking quite gray. Friends of ours have also commented that Christos isn’t looking well. And yes, he has gotten even worse since we were here, feels weak and tired, doesn’t sleep well.

I didn’t realize that emphysema is a progressive disease, and there’s no cure. How often I’ve wanted to snatch Christos’ pipe from his hand and tell him to give it up. But now, may as well let him enjoy his nearly only pleasure in life.

The heartache his children daily inflict doesn’t help matters, either. (Remember I told you that at Pascha, his adopted daughter Danai came from London to visit him, looking beautiful and behaving charmingly? Well, she turned his joy to sorrow by asking him for 10,000 Euros to pay her debts. As if he had any money.)

If you are a praying person, please add Christos and his children (Danai, Vicki, and Phideas) to your prayer list, as the need is great.

And if you smoke tobacco or anything else, add that to your prayer list, too. And quit before it’s too late!