Every Generation

Six Months Later

2011-01-25T07:34:00.000-08:00

Okay, you are really going to laugh because once again I am back and once again sipping on my morning coffee contemplating life. But now I am sitting inside my house (because it is too damn cold outside), in my sunny gold room I call my serenity now room. The room has gold walls and 2 gold puffy chenille covered one and a half chairs, trimmed in 12" bullion, with 3 large pillows that envelope you when you sit. Sometimes Charlie joins me in the room. He picks the chair that the sun shines on the most. He will stand in front of the chair and wait for me to remove the middle pillow so he has more room to curl up. I have a great painting I purchased from a starving artist that depicts old buildings and rain-soacked streets and sidewalks. The storm must just be breaking up because the sun is beginning to bellow its golden red hues through the overcast sky. The setting must be in the early 1900's with men walking around in our their boiler hats and waist coats and women in their long bustled dresses and parasols. There is a statue of a man on a horse in the city square, most likely a military hero, and an American flag draping from the front of a building. The painter copied the Kincaid style of bringing the painting to life with gold colors and flecks that appear to catch the light and actually glow when the sun or a night light hits it. It is a great picture. The south wall has plenty of windows covered in pecan colored natural bamboo shades that let in the perfect amount of sunlight that warms me up when the chill of winter surrounds everything. There is a half-moon shaped window above the others that has leaded glass. It too reflects the sunlight perfectly, diminishing its intensity but also plays with it a bit by adding muted colors of the rainbow to dance on the walls. The French doors allow me to close the world out or let it come in depending on how much serenity I really need. When the little boys come to visit, which isn't often enough, I tell them that this is the room where you come in, sit down and be still. Just be still. It is funny to watch their faces and their body language when I keep reminding them in a Ashram Guru sort of way that they need to breathe in and breathe out and just be still. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't.

Today, for the moment I am just breathing. FL is on his way to the high security prisons in Canon City, CO where the most notorious of criminals are housed. He visits once a month to about 15 inmates who have converted to Orthodoxy. He doesn't know their story. He doesn't ask. It isn't for him to judge. I am sitting at my country French secretary with its open pane doors that are inlaid with brass triangles. Inside are memories of years past encased in frames that compliment the room. I also have hanging on a wall a Japanese watercolor with birds gliding over a Lily pond of floating gardenias and orchids and tall eucalyptus branches draping over the water. As I sit here, I ponder at how quickly time goes by.

Yesterday FL and I drove early in the morning to Cheyenne where FL's mother Esther was remembered in her 3-year memorial after the Divine Liturgy. We then went to the cemetery where it wasn't hard to remember that cold blistery winter day when she was laid to rest. ["Laid to rest". What does that mean? Here -- let me seal you in this hard cold casket and put you six feet under so you can rest? Never to see the light of day or be seen again? They should say -- where you get eaten by whatever decays your body and turns you back in to the dust you were before God decided to turn you into a human being. I guess it doesn't quite sound so peaceful.] Again the temperature was in the 30's and the wind was blowing 40 miles per hour -- which offered a wonderful balmy wind chill factor which made it seem as if it was 10 below. It was cold. Cold lips don't allow you to speak very quickly but FL did a nice job. We have determined that memorials for Esther and George will be in July from now on. Sitting down to lunch, we shared in memories of Esther the mother, sister, matriarch, wife and friend. There was a lot of laughs, and not so many tears as favorite stories or Esther euphemisms were shared.

Esther inspired the theme of "every-generation, FL's sabbatical journey. And now, six months later, it is difficult to find the time to reconnect to the flavor of the those 4 months. I remember the sites and the walking and the family moments. But now that journey, that experience, just dangles out there like cut up rags dangling from an elastic rope waiting for someone to bump against them so they can bounce up and down until they become still again. Every now and then I grab on to them when for some reason they brush by me like a ghost and something or someone makes me pause and remember. Six months later we are back in our routine. That old idea of spending more time together and slowing down a bit -- reorganizing our schedules to allow more time for family or exercise or nice dinners at the table that sits empty and alone in our kitchen. But it is all okay. It works, it's life. And we know what the alternative to that is -- I guess we will get enough "rest" later.

I don't know if anyone will ever read this, but if you do -- call me, I'd like to know you are following.

Thanks,
Marsha

It is Time!

2010-09-15T08:31:00.000-07:00

It is Time

Last week when we returned home from the family reunion in Cheyenne, Charlie literally spoke to me. He was so excited to see us. I really think he thought we were leaving for another seven-week trip, the fact that we were gone only two-and-a -half days was a tremendous relief to him. So, once again we pull out the old suitcase, apparently our new fashion statement for the season, and hug Charlie goodbye, as we are off to the mountains for our final few days of the sabbatical. I’m sure he is getting tired of all of this. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m not far behind.
FL and I are expected at the Snow Mountain Retreat in Fraser Colorado. If you are from Colorado, and you love to ski, snow mobile, hike or fish, you know exactly where that is. If you are not, let’s just say it is “in the mountains”. And if you are in the mountains in Colorado, you will see lots of beautiful scenery. There are the mountains, the hills, the aspen trees just beginning to take on their fall colors. There are rivers and streams and lakes with a fisherman here and there, standing knee deep in waders casting his line, hoping to catch that trophy size Rainbow Trout. There are green pastures, some with horses in them that are grazing along the fence line or even lying down just soaking in the sunshine as long as they possibly can until the temperatures suddenly drop with the cold night air.
I have mixed emotions about this four month sabbatical coming to an end. On the one hand, I am ready to get back into a “normal” routine. Whatever that means? But there is such finality to this entire experience. I am pretty sure it will be the last time FL and I spend this much time together until he retires. Ooh, I can’t believe that word is even ready to be spoken. “Retires?” Let me rephrase that. Until he retires as the proestamanos of a parish. I don’t think he will ever really retire. Priests are like the bunnies that keep on going, or the watch that keeps on ticking. As we drive up the mountain our trip is silent. “Michael Jackson’s Greatest Hits” is playing on the iPod. “Got to be there…..to be there, in the morning…” I love Michael Jackson. The young Michael Jackson. His songs always bring back memories of a time in my life when I was younger, fresher, less serious. I think he was on my first date singing “Puppy Love”, or “One Bad Apple”, when that ended. I am definitely a softie for “the oldies”. As I stare out the window at the landscape I think we are both contemplating how the past four months have affected us. You wouldn’t think that a four month sabbatical would be such a big deal. I mean, really. People travel all the time. People take vacations all the time. But this was more than that. First of all, it was an opportunity of a lifetime to visit all the places we’ve been; to imagine our grandparents or great grandparents walking the same paths we took. To stop and share this experience with our children, who will one day become us. Wondering what legacy we have left behind for them to hold on to and to pass on to their children’s children. But mostly, it was a time for FL and I to reconnect. To remind us of why we are together and what keeps us together. In 33 years of married life, serving God and parishioners of His church, has been the number one focus in our lives. Of course the family is his priority, but the focus is the Church. Even on a day off, or a vacation, her presence is felt. Sleeping at night with the phone next to the bed in case someone calls in an emergency – and they have. Scheduling birthdays, anniversaries, holidays around the church’s needs, not our own. And for the first time, the past four months – well, let’s not exaggerate, 3 months and maybe one week – our lives were our own. The focus was the family. WE laughed, yelled, built memories, and watched lots of sports. Again, there is such finality to that. Tonight, we will walk into a room of parishioners and the "new" season will begin. FL is ready. This is his flock. He cares for this alternate family of his. He is protective and he wants to serve them – (for the glory of God, as he would say). It is time.

The resemblance to any place we have traveled seems minimal as we drive through the Rocky Mountains. The high peaks have such an ominous presence. They are half covered in pines that have unfortunately been destroyed by the pine beetle, so rather than a forest of green; there is now a forest of brown with a little green. However, the new little shoots of pines seem to be standing tall and bright, almost exclaiming to their elders, not to worry, they have it covered and they will someday soon take their place. The rocky edges of the peaks are worn and jagged like the face of an old Indian Chief whose skin saw too much sun and wind. These peaks are the powerhouse of the Rockies. They almost come alive if you stare at them long enough. My father was a geologist. Whenever I drive through mountain ranges and valleys, I am reminded of the endless lessens told about the earth and her development; and why the mountains exist; and why they look like they do; and what type of rock the formation consists of; and whether it be from the Jurassic, or the Cambrian or pre-Cambrian era, or whatever! I smile, remembering how I rolled my eyes when he would begin the story and how I would turn my focus to the imaginary designs the clouds would make with their big fluffy sculptures that transformed into something different within minutes. Sorry dad, too much right brain for me. The small towns in the mountains have that reoccurring theme of a cross between the old west with their country stores or the mountain ski resort chic with designer boutiques and coffee shops.

Upon arriving at the lodge, we immediately change into warmer clothes because the mountain air has turned quite chilly, thus reminding me why I don’t visit the mountains more often. The first round of welcome begins at a campfire where everyone is roasting marshmallows for the ever famous Smores. Heartfelt greetings and hugs and kisses were in abundance. Saturday was filled with more mountain viewing, a little fishing and carb-filled meals of sausage and gravy, fried chicken and chocolate cake. We had more carbs for dinner and then the panoramic view of the valley stood still for our Vespers service. Everyone gathered for the “Every Generation” presentation which thankfully, they all seemed to enjoy. The evening closed out with another campfire session as the camp entertainers sang those age old songs that are loud and catchy and the children love…. “I said a boom chica boom…”! There were quite a few children attending and they seemed to be enjoying their freedom to run and play without the constrictions of home. Sunday we departed the camp grounds in the cool 25 degree temperature, heading toward Prophet Elias, a small church built over a century ago by generations before us. They chose this land because it reminded them of their homeland. Greek Americans from all over the Denver area would vacation up here in the summertime. I have heard great stories about multitudes of families coming together with their cooking utensils and homemade wines, sitting around on cool evenings. Someone must have brought up the idea that they should have a church here for Sundays. Being the generation that left home and the words “I can’t”, not being a part of their vocabulary – or “Ohi” as they probably said it, they built that church that represented who they were as a culture. Ironically, Father Lou, AKA--Pater Elias, was here on Sunday to serve his first Divine Liturgy with His parishioners in four months, at that church, Prophet Elias. He was back, he was comfortable in his surroundings. There was happiness in his heart as he addressed His flock. It was time.

Treveling down the mountain that afternoon, listening to the football game and then the baseball game on the radio, that replaced my “oldies but goodies”, I realized it was time for me too. It has been such a great ride. A journey, with memories that may fade as the years go by, but they will never die. Charlie --- we’re home!

Thank you God.

"He always sings ragtime music"

2010-09-11T10:06:00.000-07:00

The journey is almost over. The final destination is the reconnection to the present. Why do we find that so hard to do? The mind is such a strange gift. It can travel back and forth in time and jump forward to the future, or its perception of what the future may or should be -- but rarely do we stay in the present and experience the moment. Smell the roses as the old cliche goes. As I begin this blog, I'm once again sitting in the back yard drinking my first cup of coffee of the day. I must really give the impression that all I do it sit around sipping coffee and contemplating nature's way; peaceful, quiet, serene. I do enjoy summer, and fortunately life has been very relaxing for the most part over the past several months, lending itself to the situation. Today I noticed that that the summer sun is repositioning itself and filtering through the trees with a little softer determination. The shadows are hanging around longer covering most of the patio and the grass, offering a reprieve from the August heat allowing the tired flowers to soak in their moist environment a little longer. The breeze in the air is also a little cooler and less noticeable. But every now and then a gust kicks up sporadically waking the chimes and demanding they play a few notes.

We just spent a week with Nichole and the boys. Gus came in for the weekend for the "new Christopulos family reunion". Papou and Zsa Zsa's house isn't nearly as fun as spending all day at the beach in Greece, nor is the food quite as good. But Pappou Lou gave it his best; becoming the golf and fishing partner to Stelios. He participated in Elias' superhero make believe world where one minute Fl was covered in a web shot from Elias' perfectly posed Spiderman fingertips, and the next minute he was reviving Superman from a lethal exposure to kryptonite poured over him by the evil Lex Luther, Superman's arch enemy. And to Alexander, he was the ball boy, retrieving basketballs or tennis balls that just missed the mark; the ball handler's handler --meaning he carried him a lot; and yes,the ball handler's changer (use your imagination), when needed.

We reopened the pathway for more memories as the Christopulos brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews and grand nieces and nephews shared a weekend of Wyoming fun. FL took charge of cooking hamburgers for all at his sister Adri's house. The night air cooperated maintaining its warmth as long as possible before having to pull out the old sweatshirt if we planned to sit under the stars any longer. One would think that six children under 8 years old,five of them being boys,would make for a wild evening. But each found their age appropriate playmate and aside from a few power struggles over balls and a little pushing and shoving, all went well. When it came time to leave, Stelios could not find his shoes. After a scavenger hunt involving 10 adults and 6 children looking under tables, chairs, couches, and retracing footprints in the wet grass, Uncle Chris came up a hero after checking one more time in the most unlikely place, on the step next to the door. I can guarantee you that had we been looking for a woman's pair of dress shoes as apposed to Telly's black and white Nike athletic shoes, Chris' honing skills wouldn't have worked quite so well. After late conversation with brothers to brothers to brother-in-law and sisters to sisters to sisters-in-law, cousins to cousins and so on.... we said good night.

The next day the tradition of Wyoming football began. FL woke up at 5:00 a.m. anticipating the opening season game. Texting his brother, Dan, they met in the lobby for a cup of coffee to discuss the possibility and hope for a Cowboy victory. At this point I'm sure many memories came to mind. As a child, waking up early to the crisp mountain air of early fall, where the days warmed up as the hands on the clock ticked away the hours and the minutes until the big game; his father and mother loaded up the old Ford station wagon -- you know the big kind that substituted for a boat should the need arise. George wouldn't think of buying anything other than a Ford. The two boys sat way in back, far away from George's reach, the two girls in the middle. The family would definitely be listening to the pre-game commentators on the AM station out of Laramie Wyoming, discussing the statistics of the sport and the players. Who would be starting and which team was favored to win. Knowing George, if the other team was favored, a short outburst of "Oh, you're nuts -- why don't you get out of Wyoming would follow, (expressed here in a much more PG format). Or, "You mallet head," (whatever that meant) -- followed with a few more expletives. Then Esther I'm sure would interject, "Geese George!" I'm also sure that"Cowboy Joe", the Wyoming Cowboy's theme song was sung at least 10 times before the drive out of the mountains opened up into the huge expanse of undeveloped land. And there, in the middle of nowhere, the University of Wyoming, with its tall spires and medieval Gothic style buildings stood regal and tall representing the state's contribution to education; so out of character to the baron terrain of sagebrush and the wind blown grassland and the limited half-parched pine trees that surround it. The Rocky mountains, in the background, with their purple majestic silhouette framed the football stadium that stood larger than life to influential youth. "War Memorial Stadium" built in honor of World War II Veterans.

Wyoming is all about patriotism. And there were none more patriotic than George Christopulos. He loved God and his church; he loved his family; he loved his country; and he really loved the University of Wyoming. Upon arriving at the parking lot, before the clock struck 12 and the games began, personally autographed footballs would come out and Dan and Lou would enter the sideline where future athletes of America would toss the ball relentlessly back and forth, running for that imaginary touchdown until the uniform clad heroes of the day, in their brown and gold Jerseys and sporting the famous bucking bronco on their helmets, would enter the field. Accompanied by the UW Cowboy marching band, the fans would sing out loud to the syncopated gaiter of "Cowboy Joe". Just when the noise couldn't get any louder "boom", the cannon shot from afar announcing the beginning of the game -- kickoff time! From that moment on, nothing else in life existed or mattered. Ten years later, FL took the field in his "brown and gold" uniform, a big number 27 stamped on his back, becoming that hero for the next generation. A few years after that, Dan also proudly wore the Cowboy label as the kicker, still holding the Wyoming record for the longest field goal. A 62-yard attempt, won the game. I was there that day, FL was in Boston at the seminary. Christopulos' around the country were proud.

So today, game day, FL was that athlete all over again. Waking early with jitters and excitement for the upcoming event. He was thinking through the plays for the day. The goal -- to arrive at the stadium in time for the opening kickoff with children and grandchildren adorned in some form of brown and gold. As ETD (estimated time of departure) closed in, his nerves were on edge as the group was beginning to become non-responsive to his quest. More frustration as the need for switching places and car seats and cars due to the demands of young voices -- really loud voices. Elaine, Adri, Lou and Dan were in attendance honoring their parents with a brick purchased to memorialize their parents' patriotism to the game and the University of Wyoming. Standing next to that brick that held company on a wall of hundreds of others, we took pictures with our present and future generations. I'm not sure that the love and passion for the game and the Alma mater of FL and myself will be relived with any of our children or grandchildren, but I am sure that the brick will remain in place waiting patiently, should they come back some day with their grown children and their grandchildren, to find their legacy. Watching Telly, Elias and Alexander cheering for the Cowboys, who won their first game of the season; and sharing the experience with his brother's and sister's, turned out to be all that FL could hope for. He is in fact his father's son.

Sunday began with church services. FL served his first complete Divine Liturgy since the village in Kokkino, at his home parish of Saints Constantine and Helen in Cheyenne. Not everyone was there on time. This church represents a lifetime of memories where brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews and even our own daughter Nichole was baptized. It is where lifelong friendships were sealed; brides and grooms were united; grandparents departed; and where parents' memories were eternalized. After church, we visited the grave site of many Christopulos' saying a prayer for all of them. As the brothers and sisters looked at one another tears came to their eyes, yearning for earlier times when they all were together with their mother and father, and yia yia and papou's, not just here alone, left behind with their memories.

Little America, is where we stayed for the weekend. It is the perfect hotel/motel -- and I have been to many, especially recently. Its lobby is tastefully decorated with heavy padded floral carpeting that compliments the over sized large sofa and chairs that focus on the stone fireplace. The accessories are perfect in an appropriate western motif with bronze renderings of steer wrestlers and ropers. The gift shop is laden with western art design, unique gifts for children, gum, aspirin, etc... as well as a clothing section that suits those of various taste. There is a small coffee shop where you can get the best ice cream cone in the world for 50 cents and early morning coffee. The rooms are still very large with queen size beds covered in powder blue spreads with matching curtains covering sliding glass doors that open to an outdoor patio. The French provincial dressers and vanities conveniently offer plenty of drawer space. A swimming pool the size of a small lake and a par-3 golf course are surrounded by 30 year-old pines that whisper constantly in the wind, because the wind is constantly blowing. But my favorite is the restaurant. It just has that old elegant style with a dining room filled with white linen covered tables and in the center are sets of half-curved booths that sit back to back. The waiters and waitresses that serve you, still wear black and white uniforms. After a long hard day of sun and wind and cheering loudly, dinner at Little America in Cheyenne Wyoming, is my reward for making the trip. My favorite is liver and onions with mashed potatoes and salad. On Sunday, we had a family champagne brunch in a private room with breakfast served from silver chaffing dishes, attended by the neatly uniformed wait staff. We celebrated the culmination of a beautiful weekend, obviously a victorious weekend, and the final leg of the sabbatical. Everyone sat down to watch our presentation of "Every Generation", which was prepared by Maria Demeris our dear friend from Houston, (and Greece). She captured a journey in our lives in a way that our words could not express. After rave reviews and full stomachs and lots and lots of picture taking, we departed for home.

The air in Denver is much warmer than Cheyenne and it allowed us many hours to spend on the patio where we shared laughs and memories with grandma and grandpa while Alexander shot the basketball; Stelios played Trivial Pursuit; Jonathan texted his girlfriend; Christopher and Gus joked amongst themselves; and Elias slept in the bedroom. I sat watching the 4 generations together thinking how quickly time passes. A tear slowly began to appear and knowing my emotions would soon be exposed, I arose and walked away. Through this entire journey one theme is evident; that every generation share life's experiences; the good, the bad, loving beyond words, laughing until you cry, and goodbyes. Knowing Nichole and family will be leaving once again, I can only sigh. And then I am suddenly jolted from my over-contemplative moment; as Elias appeared in the doorway and once again letting his powerful presence be known, he shouted, "Mommy, I'm all wet". Out of the mouths of babes!

Labor Day 2010: Peace, quit, alone in the present moment; a journey from beginning to end.

July 23rd -- Home Sweet Home!

2010-07-23T05:19:00.000-07:00

July 23, 2010. I woke up very early today, on our first morning back. Stepping outside into OUR garden, I was anxious to reunite with that crisp Colorado summer air that comes just between the breaking of dawn and the complete rising of the sun. When the dew is still on the ground, and the cushions of the lawn furniture are still damp; and the fresh clean grassy smells of early morning hang in the air just before the touch of the sun evaporates them. Today is also my birthday, and I made myself a cup of coffee in the traditional European way -- instant. I decided, today being a special day for many reasons, that in honor of Constance, and her china closet, and the lingering effects of the Queens influence, that I would treat myself, by using "the good stuff". There is nothing like the subtle clink of a silver spoon on the sides of a china cup as you stir your coffee. As I settled in to the moment, I numbly became aware that our "every generation" journey, for the most part, was coming to a close...

Beginning our decent into Denver International Airport, I stared into the white cottony clouds that always seem to surround airplanes as they are landing. As the engines droned and the sounds of the landing gear become more obvious, images of the familiar plains of the struggling green farmlands in a dry arid climate, were coming into focus. They reminded me; I wasn't in Scotland anymore, Dorothy. However, off to the West in their majestic glory, the Rocky Mountains said, "Welcome Home". As I observed their blue hazy silhouette interrupted by opaque clouds of rain, I had a melancholy moment of a mirrored view thousands of miles away. A tear came to my eyes, realizing how ready we were to return and how far we had come. I know it will take us some period of time for the entire experience to sink in, but right now, it just felt good to be home! After the ordinary customs check and collecting our baggage, the international doors that seem to be a passage of two different worlds, opened automatically to our footsteps. Stepping in to the sparkling clean corridors of the terminal we immediately spotted grandpa. Unexpected tears welled up as I quickly walked into his open arms. We hugged in that father-daughter way that says "you are the best, dad, and I'm so glad to see you". Arriving home, we could barely get in the door before Charlie came bolting out in uncontrollable excitement, barking and turning circles, doing the best he could to let us know that he had waited a long time for this moment. Chris and my mom were both waiting with big hugs and kisses and anxious to hear about the journey. It was a welcome reunion. A kind and thoughtful friend had prepared and brought over a delicious Mexican dinner, which totally hit the spot after 18 hours of traveling. Thank you Kathy!

Honestly, I am not able at this time to put into words how the entire experience has affected all of us. As I walk around my garden, quietly listening to the birds waking up and the chimes barely swaying back and forth, playing only a few chords at a time, I have come to the conclusion that traveling around the world to connect with your roots, albeit a wonderful experience, is really just a lesson in geography. It is significant to know the lineage behind who we are and pass that on to our children. But these generations are with us all the time, regardless of where we are. Their hands are our hands; their smiles are our smiles; and if we were lucky enough to know them, their touch is our memory. A memory that can be passed on from generation to generation. Finishing my last spot of coffee, as the Brits would say, and focusing my eyes on my favorite plaque -- "with a kiss of the sun for pardon, the song of the birds for mirth, I am nearer to God (and my family) in my garden, than anywhere else on earth." I thank God for our safe journeys, for family and friends and for my home sweet home. I love it!

Please keep checking for more blogs. I am sure that FL will be wanting to share more of his memories. Maybe not quite so regularly but periodically. God bless you all for sharing this incredible journey. Thank you for your prayers and encouragement. It was a "trip"!!!

One day and counting.....

2010-07-21T07:57:00.000-07:00

If you are reading this on the morning of the 22nd, we will be flying over the Atlantic on our way back home... Godspeed!

One Day and counting! One Day! And this journey will be over. What an incredible ride. Honestly, I don't know what to say. (Just kidding). We have visited 6 countries, 6 major cities, and 100's of small villages and towns, maneuvering in and out of airports, lugging bags on and off trains and taxis, many in countries where body language is your best means of communication. We have seen the Sien and the Thames Rivers, the Mediterranean Sea and the North Sea. We have flown over the Atlantic Ocean, Turkey, Switzerland, Austria, Germany, and we have driven hundreds of miles of highways in Greece and the UK. Not to mention the many narrow winding roads I'd like to forget. I feel like a computer that has been charged for too many hours or days. I'm on overload. Any new relic or corn field from this point forward, will just cause a short circuit.

On the 19th, we arrived at St. Andrews, Scotland, after a long drive from Stafford in the UK, through the hills and valleys of farmland and countryside, with miles and miles of green. Just beginning to think that nothing could get any prettier, we drove into Scotland, where the plush landscaping has dew dripping from the trees and plants. Another land of breathtaking scenery. The farmland is fenced with trees and divided into giant squares of different shades of green. Some square are dark green, some light green and some a hay colored gold. It is like looking at a jigsaw puzzle.

We were originally supposed to stay at our 3rd bed and breakfast, somewhere between here and there. However, what is inadvertently left out of any description, when going online to book, is that driving experience in the UK should be a prerequisite to arriving at the "unique" 300 year old farmhouse located 10 miles in the middle of nowhere, down a narrow road that is barely able to fit two cars. And that would be if they were actually available in a location somewhat near the direction in which you were traveling. The first UK experience of our B&B was arriving at the Offley Farm Grove about 8:30 in the evening. FL had been driving about 4 hours. After a shaky start, he settled in to his left brain doing what the right brain was accustomed to. But all in all, we were feeling pretty comfortable. Leaving the (M1), our equivalent to I-25, for the M4359, our equivalent to Rural Route 1, we soon realized that this wasn't what we signed the insurance form for. The narrow road was 1.5 car widths wide, basically following a path of what one would imagine a runaway tractor would make. And the sides of the road were lined with 10 to 12 foot dense shrubs -- no mistakes here. Invariably, on the sharpest turns, another car would just be coming around the corner. The second night was more of the same. Only this night, the roads were narrower and the crops higher. There were no lights on the roads and no cars. When we arrived at the small farm house, the couple that greeted us seemed nice enough. But seriously, I expected Kathy Bates as the character from the movie Misery to appear in our room, and lock us away in an old shed with sharp farming tools hanging from hooks nearby, bound and gagged. Convinced that we were not going to make it through another night in one of these "charming" B&B's, and as uncharacteristic as it is for me, I knew I had to take the bull by the horns. We did not book the 3rd night of the B&B, we did not visit another hay field overpopulated with black and white cows and hundreds of sheep, down a rural pathway to God knows where.... We booked a second night at the McDonald Rusack Hotel, the site of the British Open 2010, and the first golf course in the world. Driving to the front door of this 100 year old hotel, a bell man arrived to park the car and take our luggage to the room... breakfast was included. Now this is the type of B& B I had in mind. When we arrived, the day after the British Open ended, the giant scoreboard was still standing, displaying the names of the winners. From our room in the old well appointed mansion, we could see the greens that have cushioned the cleats of the most famous golfers in the world, covering the grounds below. Brass plates named each room in honor of a winner of the British Open. We stayed in the Rusack Room. Jonathan was in the John Daly Room. Scottish tartan wools covered the beds, furniture and curtains with golf history decorating the walls. Needless to say, I made the right decision. Fl had now died and was experiencing golf heaven.

The following day, we toured the remains of St. Andrew Cathedral, which at one time was the largest building in Scotland. Set at the tip of the coastline, this magnificent facade, spoke once again of war and religious strife, as so many other remains have. It had been desecrated by the new reform church of Scotland. In spite of their actions, they left a landmark that may have been even more expressive as a ruin. After some great photo opportunities, Jonathan and I continued through the town center observing the sight and smells -- we learned to avoid walking near the cheese stores. Not only did the weather hold up for us, but the golfers experienced an unusual day of no rain. And by golfers, I mean FL. Unfortunately he was not able to play the "old course" at St. Andrews -- the dream of any golfer worth his weight in clubs. But, he did get on "the new course" built in 1897. A memory of a lifetime. This would be a bucket list moment.

Waking early on Wednesday to the excitement of our last 24 hours, we ate a light breakfast, loaded up the car, took pictures at the famous Bridge at St. Andrews, and with a light drizzle running off the car, we drove away. Our final stop -- Edinburgh!

By the way, I am now confirming that B&B's from this point on in my life, must include: a reception desk; a bell man; hot and cold running water coming out of one faucet; proper flushing toilets that don't need to be pumped like a well spicket; and they must be located on a busy street in a busy city with street lights! Oh yes, and breakfast included. Tomorrow we leave. I can't believe my next blog will be from home! Please keep us in your prayers for a safe return. God Bless.

Time keeps on ticking..

2010-07-18T11:57:00.000-07:00

Constance Day Robbins was a grand Dame. At the age of three, with golden locks and big blue eyes, she, along with her brother and her mother, left England. Her father had passed away and the Mormon Church provided the way, and the means, and the promises for a better life. Her mother, with very few options, chose to leave behind her family and a country. Sailing across the ocean probably seemed effortless when faced with what was to come. From the lines of people at Ellis Island where their names were registered like so many thousands of others, to the journey across a country several times the size of England, the trepidation and fear must have been nearly unbearable. The desination; an unfamiliar place called Utah. Where there were no rolling hills of green flowing pasteurs, no trees covering the landscape, and no flowers growing in pots in the yards with the protection of rod iron fences. Once there, they began a life of hard work on farm land where the only chance of survival was by the will and the grace of God. Constance married at the age of 16, and barely more than a child herself, she started her own family. She was a proud woman standing a little over 5 feet 2 inches. But she was all lady, unless she had to stand up taller and be stronger to survive.

The last time I saw my grandmother, we drove through a blizzard in January to be by her bedside. I whispered in her ear, not knowing if she could hear me, telling her that I was here, and that I loved her. I told her that Lou was here as well, and that we were going to say a prayer with her. I took her feeble hand and gently squeezed it. I didn't know this frail lifeless person lying in front of me. There was a slight stirring from her and I acknowledged it to be a sign of recognition. I bent over and kissed her forehead, and as Lou began 'The Lord's Prayer", she took in her last breath and then let it out. My grandma was gone.

Being the oldest granddaughter, I was proud to give the eulogy at her funeral. It was hard to explain how special this beautiful lady was to me. She loved unconditionally, with big arms open when we arrived to visit and tears when we left. I could play dress up with her clothes and shoes and jewelry. Nothing was untouchable. She always baked my favorite hot rolls that are still second to none, and remembered to have Alphabits ready for my breakfast. We sat in the kitchen at her booth-style table for hours talking over coffee -- her plasma as she would call it -- and indulging in her homemade pastries. Every now and then she would have to speak "Pig Latin" to protect my young ears. She always made me feel so grown up and so special. Every birthday and every Christmas, with unceasing dependability, she sent presents. But it wasn't just that she sent the present that made you feel special, it was how it was wrapped; with beautiful paper and matching satin bows, tied to perfection, in that way that most people can't even begin to tie. She loved her two-story stucco house with pine trees surrounding, and the birds that sang to her from her open windows. And she loved the sunlight that came in through the big mullion-paned windows creating shadows of patterns on the floor that she used as a sundial to tell the time of day, or the time of year. She loved her china which now decorates my Christmas tables. She would decorate for every holiday. And she would sing every day in spite of what the day had in store. She never spoke much about England, but her sense of style and her uncharacteristic collections of books, silver, fine linens and china, silently told you that her roots were deeper than that small town in Utah. She truly was a grand dame.

Today, I came to Kings Heath, UK. The small town where my grandmother was born almost 100 years ago. Visiting the local cemetery, I was hoping to find a name that might connect her to this place, but gave up after a dedicated search proved fruitless. In the center of town there was a beautiful Church of England, ironically named All Saints Church. (The same as in Kokkino). It was celebrating 150 years of services. Logically, this could be the church where my great-grandmother was married, and where my grandmother was baptized. The church-yard could hold the remains of my great grandfather. I was a little disappointed that I couldn't really make any tangible connections. Then, as we were leaving town, it dawned on me. I was the connection. Because of a decision made by a young helpless widow, with two small children and very few options; I am.
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London was a great experience. It is a beautiful city with a lot of history. The Queen's presence is very prominent. Displayed throughout the city are statues of war heroes and various famous people who have made their mark in history. The Brits are a very proud sort. We enjoyed walking the streets with the repeated pattern of Victorian townhouses neatly built and painted in Queen's White, which makes the colorful flowers that bloom in abundance stand out even more. Hyde Park was a treat, however I was disappointed in the "fountain" dedicated to Princess Diana. It is really a large ribbon of granite with different surface patterns that carry a small stream of water from top to bottom claiming to depict the patterns of her life. The people speak perfect English and for the first time in 6 weeks we didn't have to use body language to explain ourselves. The weather has totally cooperated with a cool breeze, only a few sprinkles, intermittent cloudiness, and 70 degree temperatures. Perfect weather for walking and walking and walking.... We took one of those traditional tour buses. You know the kind with the open seating above, where you can look up and see people laughing and joking with the man on the microphone. It turned out to be better than we expected, learning inside notes on many of the historical sights. Westminster Abbey and Big Ben were every bit as impressive as the song. And Buckingham Palace and the Parliament building definitely have the air of royalty about them. We treated ourselves to fish and chips at a local pub. And then, after a six week withdrawal from our usual movie addiction, we decided to go to a movie. Thoroughly enjoying the experiences of the day, we felt closer to America than we have in weeks. On Saturday, we left London. We picked up a rental car for the last leg of our journey. As we began driving away, I again covered my eyes and cringed as FL took the wheel, which is now on the right-hand side of the car, and we drove off on the left-hand side of the street. This experience deserves its own blog. Until then -- Cheerio!!

Divine Liturgy -- All Saints Church -- Kokkino Greece

2010-07-16T01:59:00.000-07:00

On Sunday, July 11, 2010, Jonathan and I began our drive at 6:40 a.m. from Chranoi, where we are staying to Kokkino, the Village of my Papou Elias. The others will come a bit later for 8:45 a.m. Liturgy. The 20 mile or so journey takes about 30 minutes on the winding roads that are barely larger than one lane. We reached the village of 60 or more homes and were greeted warmly by Fr. Elias -- (nice name). He is the priest that cares for three other area villages including Kokkino, and offers Sunday Liturgies on a rotating basis. All Saints -- Ayioi Pantes -- is the name of the Church in Kokkino. Pappa Elias graciously invited me to take first position in leading the liturgy. Interesting note here -- he was born and raised in Germany. He was an engineer prior to moving to Messinia, Greece several years ago, where his parents were from. His Greek and English are impeccable. His English was spoken with a strong German accent. As I began the liturgy in this small church, I became very emotional realizing that this was the church where my Papou was baptised. When Marsha and family arrived, it was definitely a special experience to see my children and grandchildren receiving communion in this unique setting. I also took a moment for a special prayer for Chris, who could not be with us because had to return to Denver. This day, the 11th of July was also his 27th birthday.

At the end of Liturgy, I addressed the village people present; about 50. Almost all were related to me, including the two chanters and the young couple visiting from Australia. We were welcomed warmly. Afterwards, Christos unlocked the doors to the house that my Papou lived in prior to leaving for America. It has been refurbished, thanks to Dr. George from Chicago. After coffee with the men at the local (and only) caffenio, we went back for a delicious meal prepared by Maria. (If you haven't been following the previous blogs, my Cousin Christos and Maria are the couple from Kokkino, who are the caretakers of Dr. George's house. They also picked us up and dropped us off at the airport. Maria is responsible for stuffing us, on a few occasions, with her delicious home cooked meals.) Traveling back down the mountain, seeing the incredible panoramic views of the many villages, and the turquoise waters below, I couldn't help but feel the presence of my grandparents and parents. The reality that we were in this church that was a part of my history, that I offered prayers for my departed family members including my Papous Elias and George, my Yia Yias Eleni and Genevieve, my father and my mother, and that we had all received Holy Communion - together - was overwhelming. In the eternal moment of our loving Lord, Jesus Christ, the generations - past and present were one with Him to the Glory of God the Father through the Holy Spirit.

Goodbye Sun, Goodbye Moon...

2010-07-14T08:30:00.000-07:00

"I'm leaving, on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again...." June 14, and the time has come to pack our bags, clean up the house, say goodbye to Eeyore, Billy, the wise old owl, spectacular sunrises and sunsets, and of course -- the deep blue sea. I definitely had a moment of introspection as we closed the gate to the big house on the hill, in Greece. Knowing that this time and place will now just become a fleeting memory. A memory that will come and go periodically during my lifetime. And, when that moment comes, I will get a little stirring from within my heart, spreading throughout my body, like a tiny warm current that will most likely trigger a pause, a big smile, and then a deep sigh. Driving away, I quietly gazed out the window at the scenery of box-shaped houses, and bushes of brightly colored flowers that dart in and out of the seascape, I wonder if I will ever return. I'm not sure if I would want to replace the virgin memories we gathered here. But, seriously, is there a more beautiful place on this earth? Picture the United States, with the seascape of the east coast on one side and the west coast on the other. Take out the flat lands and the dry plains and leave in the Rocky Mountains. Play with the borders a bit by pulling some in and others out. Some forming rocky cliffs and others forming gentle foothills. You could even pull a piece completely away here and there and leave it floating. Then surround this whole area with water. Not just any water. The kind of water you would add azure blue bath salts to -- the whole bottle. Take out the harsh winters and bring in the southern climate with its tropical plants and flowers, but not so much humidity. Then reduce it to the size of Colorado and go back in time 60 years. That is Greece. It has a rural mentality of small towns crowded with small shops that are packed with what they believe to be modern supplies. Connect these small towns by narrow roads paved with blacktop laid in a non-cohesive fashion, with many twists and turns. I mean this figuratively as well. The whole country seems to be an oxymoron of ultra-modern and Victorian Chic, tied in with 70's rock. There is such a difference in mentality between Greece and America. It is hard to make the call as to whether or not one way of living is better than the other. Maybe it isn't my call to make.

So moving on.... life had become quite predictable for us recently. Get up. Decide whether or not we wanted to go to the beach or just hang around. Decide when to eat and when to sleep. Well, no worries. If you wait long enough, something can change all that just enough to remind you that you are not in complete control. After arriving at the Kalamata Airport, we noticed that something was a little strange. There was nothing going on. After a short search, we found the Aegean Air desk and explained to the three people in the entire airport, that we were to catch a flight to Athens in one hour. They proceeded to explain to us that that particular flight had been taken off their schedule several weeks before. Okay.... so what do we do now and how do we catch our connecting flight to London, which was leaving at 1:30? Oh... well... "didn't they notify you?" "No." "Did you check the flight status?" "Yes. Online. But there was no way to find the information regarding this particular flight. We assumed all was okay." (You know what they say about A s s U M e ing!) Long story short... they provided a taxi to drive us to Athens, canceled our 1:30 and put us on a 7:30 flight to London. Frustration was mounting. However, we have been in Greece far too long to raise our blood pressure beyond the below normal point. We graciously accepted their offer, stepped into a cab and proceeded with the three hour drive. Which actually turned out to be a pleasant surprise, reinforcing my description of a country blessed with beauty and character.

After a 5-hour wait and buckled in our multi colored, chevron patterned foam seats of Olympic Airlines, we lifted off. As the mountains that surrounding Athens passed below the plane and the turquoise blue water faded into the evening sky, I asked FL how he felt about leaving the land of his forefathers. He responded in his ever-so-classic way..... "I didn't have 4 fathers, I only had 1"! (He will have to blog his true feelings later). Jonathan and I did a "bro handshake" connecting knuckles. Then thanking God for a beautiful experience, we did our cross. London, here we come!

And then there were three.....

2010-07-12T21:42:00.000-07:00

I tried writing this morning on the Veranda, but the intensity of the sun was too much to take. If you wake up too late, you can barely look at the water because the sun's reflection is so bright. And the heat of the day begins early. Nights are cool enough to pull blankets up and if you rise early enough to see the sunrise there is a cool dampness in the air. It is at this moment, when the sun is just unfolding its rays, and peaking over the mountains on the other side of the sea, not too hot, and not too chilly, that I have come to enjoy the most. Everything is relatively quiet. No commotion. No stirring. Just that early morning calmness. There is an owl that perches on the TV antenna. He isn't a big owl, but he still has those wise old eyes circled in white, that ask "who are you?" Why are you here? And, why are you looking at me"? He will sit for a moment, caulking his head from side to side and then he flies off, irritated that I have interrupted his final prey for the night. With a fresh cup of Nescafe, I sit and wait, breathing in the experience. Then pajama-clad with "bear blankie" protectively nestled in arm, Elias will quietly appear. "Zsa Zsa, why are you sitting out hewr?", he asks with his three-year old lisp. "Because it is so beautiful. ", I respond. "Would you like to come out"? "No, I'll jutht sit here with my beaw." He then crawls up on the couch and waits until the entire affects of a good night's sleep are gone. But wait! What is that I'm hearing? Blaring up from the stairs below is a younger, louder, more awake voice. "ZSA ZSA! WHERE ARE YOU?" And the day begins.....

Today, there is no interruption. There is no sweet voice behind me. No yelling up the stairs. No little voices that say "Zsa Zsa", or "Papou Lou", with trust, and innocence, and unconditional love sharing their words. No day at the beach, no energy bouncing off the walls, no soccer in the front yard with Papou Lou, or Uncle Chris or Uncle Jonathan, no walking through the garden to pick the tomatoes or cucumbers for the salads, or the fresh fruit from the tree, to eat or feed to Eeyore or Billy. There won't be any chasing the stray cats or the "mmmmmaw" kisses and ever so tight hugs that say goodnight. Today there is silence. Nichole and Chris both left the house in a Taxi. Chris left last Thursday because he had to return home for a wedding. Nichole and family left yesterday to create their own journey. When your children walk out the door, regardless of their age, you still want to grab them back and squeeze them, holding them tightly, and wishing you could reverse time. To go back to when they were young and safe in your arms. Waving to a taxi is not natural.

Being young you take for granted the love of your family especially the love of your parents. In some innocently ignorant way, we think that today will last forever. But time changes everything. Parents grow older and we try not to notice, because it represents mortality for them and for us. Children grow up and move on. They become old enough to fly into your arms from halfway around the world and to fly right back out.

I suppose that is what this journey is all about. To realize that every generation before us is only separated because of a different time or a different place. For the most part people are all the same. From the young people holding hands and sharing a moment in time; to young families playing together on the beach sharing the same familiar family dynamics; to the elderly walking alone on a sidewalk carrying with them a lifetime of experiences. Every generation has loved, laughed and said goodbye.

Today we have created a memory. For us: a memory of a country laden with history and beauty; a reconnection of old friends; a connection of new relatives; and a sharing of precious moments with our children and grandchildren. For our children: a memory of experiences in a new place of of beauty and history that won't mean much until they grow older; of bonding with brothers and sisters and nephews in a place far from home. For our grandchildren: A water-colored memory of a time when they will remember... "when we took the airplane to see Papou Lou and Zsa Zsa; and we stayed at this really big house where you could see water forever. And I remember going to the beach and playing in the sand and sleeping under a big blue umbrella with the sea breeze blowing around me. I remember traveling up a winding road to a place where there were old crumbled house and an old old church where Papou Lou did Liturgy. I remember walking up the hill to a cemetery and lighting a candle at an altar. I remember playing soccer and kicking the ball waiting for Papou Lou or Uncle Chris or Uncle Jonathan to pull it out of the bushes, again and again and again. I remember picking tomatoes, and fruit off the trees, with Zsa Zsa, and feeding some to a donkey and a goat. I remember waking up early and watching Zsa Zsa sipping her coffee, with the sunrise reflecting behind her. I remember driving away through a big gate in a taxi cab leaving Zsa Zsa and Papou Lou behind. And waving goodbye, I remember tears."

A Day at the Beach.....

2010-07-09T20:15:00.000-07:00

A day at the beach is an experience. A week at the beach is captivating, drawing you in to a mesmerizing state of mind. You become apathetic to the rest of the world. The news only comes in one language on our local TV. but no worries.... we are at the beach. The rest of the world can take care of any major concerns. The rhythmic, pulsating beat of the water mixed with the suns reflective glare off the sand, creates somewhat of a euphoria, as the heat rises in a mirage of waves. Energy levels drops to a -3 and the present moment is all that matters. After lounging for a bit under a big blue umbrella enjoying the sea breeze and watching little children splashing and playing, their bathing suits dripping with a mixture of sand and water, you decide to exert a little energy. Wading in, you take your steps slowly, your skin conditions itself to the contrasting temperature of the water, which is so clear you can see the sand treads beneath your feet, and little fish flitting about with their friends. Finally, you have the choice to either take the plunge and dive in, or bend your knees and ever-so-slowly, lower yourself in. Aaaah... Determining that it is time to actually make your body work for its food, you begin to tread water and start to swim. But wait, if you just pick up your legs and sit back, the sea actually cradles you in a blanket of salt, and you just let the waves rock you gentle back and forth, up and down. After about 20 minutes it is time to return to the lounger and take a rest. Everything feels like it is in slow-motion. Even the frisbee seems to lag in the air before dropping. Telly, Elias and Alexander thoroughly enjoy the experience. They move a little faster than the adults but by mid-afternoon, when the sun bakes the hottest, they retreat to the cool sand under the big umbrella. They begin digging, building tiny mounds of castles and filling their buckets. Repeatedly pouring sand over their little legs, they stare at it as if in a trance, the gritty crystals sliding off like waterfalls. As I begin to read my novel for the 80th time, my eyelids become too heavy and I find myself drifting in and out of consciousness.

I have determined that the sea must emit some kind of sleeping gas. It has no desire to be disturbed from its undulating power, so it overpowers everything; the land, the vegetation. The mountains surrounding it can't even gain clarity from its powerful haze. The days here aren't long, but they aren't short either. After a day at the beach we slowly drag ourselves home to shower. Water is a commodity. Most of it comes from wells that fill the reserve tanks up by morning. But by mid-afternoon they are running on empty. Showers are short and sweet. Dinnertime is usually spent finding a nice restaurant with a sea view. Our appetites have not been big unless forced by others. The traditional Greek salad and bread has become our appetizer, with portions of "baked chicken in oven" or lamb or goat, or souvlaki, the main course. The wine is served in small or large pitchers, and the beer in bottles. Usually, the water is purchased in litre bottles and placed on the tables to share. There are a few choices for water. You may order "still", "with gas", or "tonic". The tables typically have linen table clothes but there is a standard plastic-backed paper table topper that is clipped on when you sit down to order. This same table topper with the map of Greece printed in Aegean blue ink has been used in every restaurant where we have been. I'm guessing the person that invented and manufactured these is a very wealthy man. He doubled his money if he also sells the clips that secure it in place. Bread is served in a basket with every meal. Before eating, you must remove the napkins and silverware from underneath. I'm not sure if the service is slow by nature, or if our relaxed body language is telling them that we are in absolutely no hurry whatsoever, so don't worry about us until you absolutely have to. Dinner usually takes about 2 hours from start to finish. We are pretty good with the boys if they have the freedom to run around and chase the stray kittens that hang out around the tables, and we separate them in the seating chart. After a day of sun and fun and full tummies, there is a fine line of how far you can push their patience. If you cross the line, there is no turning back. After the boys are visiting the other Mr. Sand man, card games on the veranda or World Cup playoff games close out the entertainment for the day.

All the bedrooms have sliding glass doors that are left open through the night. The first several nights we were able to experience the full moon peering in through the screen door. We fell asleep easily with the comfort of the bed and fresh air blowing in. We were then suddenly awakened to the sound of dogs barking in the distance, birds flying in and out of the eaves, bats squeaking and some strange animal that we determined to be a jackal. They make a high pitched yelping noise that I would compare to a Tom cat's mating call mixed in with the cry of a baby in distress. After realizing we were safe in our surroundings, we slowly fell back to sleep, only to be awakened by the roosters crowing, then Eeyore braying -- which is far louder than one would think, and the very annoying advertising coming from a megaphone attached to a mini pickup truck blaring out repeatedly in a loud non-emotional baratone voice: "tomatoes, potatoes, domathes" .... a slur of other items... "Eho" (I have). The noise bounces off the hillside and into your ears. Apparently there is a franchise of these little cars driving around all of Greece. I can just picture the driver in his blue Greek fisherman's hat and heavy mustache laughing, as he blasts people out of a deep sleep. Oddly enough we have adjusted to the noises as the continuing effects of the sea's control, accompanied with the bright constellations displayed in the night sky, as clear as if you were in a planetarium, puts us into a deep deep sleep. As I sit on the veranda at Kibotos, overlooking the massive body of water spread out in front of me, I think of life back home. We are definitelybecoming homesick and ready to move on with our journey. There is only so much mind-controlling relaxation a person is able to experience. I have come to the conclusion that vacationing is a practiced art, and I consider this my first lesson.

Super Markets...

2010-07-07T03:23:00.000-07:00

It is not easy traveling around in a foreign country. Things aren't always as they appear. For example, we (all 9 of us), were invited to Nikki and Yonny's house for dinner. They live in a small village about 30 minutes from where we are staying. After a long day at the beach, we all cleaned up and left for the hills. Approximately 1.35 kilometers -- I really don't know how far that would be -- Let's just say about a half a mile from our house -- we realized Alexander's bottle of milk was left behind in the refrigerator. After a small but effective fit, we convinced him that we could stop shortly to pick some up at one of the local supermarkets. He was okay with this, but I knew "time was of the essence".

Super market is the perfect word for the micro-size stores dispersed through the area. They are packed to the brim with anything and everything you need, but in a compact size. For example, I wanted some bobbi-pins to pull my hair back for the beach. After going through the motions of doing just that and pretending I was pinning the sides of my hair back, repeating the words two or three times, the supermarket worker got it and voila!, there they were. They also carry things like ant killer hotels, mosquito lamps, and plastic toy dump-trucks that you use on the beach. Don't ask me how I know these things. I wonder if they have a giant grasshopper, a giant bumble bee, and a giant spider killer hotel, or convention center?

So back to Alex's milk.... We stopped on the way and I ran in to purchase the milk. My biggest worry was whether or not I could find a straw for him to use so he could drink from the milk container. I proceeded past the assortment of meats and olive oils and pastry bars and found the familiar large bottle of milk that we have purchased here several times. I was hoping to find a more manageable one for small hands to hold. There it was. I found a mini-milk bottle, matching the larger one. While there, I also found a fruit juice box with the familiar Amita in bold letters branded to it. But maybe apple juice would be better? All babies love apple juice. After finding a juice box nearby, although it had a Greek label, it had a picture of quartered apples and the familiar plastic straw attached. I felt like one of the locals here in this handy supermarket. Thinking to myself -- a woman in a grocery store is like a blanket is to security. "We've got it covered!"

Hurrying through the line and then out to the car, Alex's excited cry "milk", and his bright smile was all I needed to make the trip worthwhile. So here is today's lesson. You know how men are always given a hard time for not asking for directions? In spite of taking the wrong turn here and there and then finally, after total frustration they admit they are lost? And then the wife comments -- I told you that you should have stopped for directions! I knew this would happen! Well, I should have asked for help, and it would not have been the first time FL would have recommended this. As Nichole began to open the small container of milk, with little Alex standing by with excited anticipation for his comfort food, there was not the familiar odor of fresh milk emitting, but rather the sour pungent aroma of "fermented" milk. Don't ask me what that is, I don't care to really know. But who buys fermented milk? With immediate disappointment slowly erupting from Alex, I frantically proceeded to open the apple juice -- no worries here. We even have a straw! Strike two -- whatever this was, we again could not figure out. But the taste of sour green apples mixed with something that we as Americans are not familiar with, nor I doubt will ever be, was the "last straw" so to speak for Alex. Nichole and I were buckled over, laughing so hard that there was no noise coming from our diaphragms. However, Alex made up for it with his screams of disappointment and frustrated that we thought his present situation so funny.

After another 10 minutes of windy roads up the mountain, we arrived at the village of Nikki and Yonny. The hills and the mountains throughout this peninsula remind me so much of the Rockies. When you look out and see the sun setting behind the silhouette of peaks and hills, and the air is just heavy enough to form that familiar haze that shades the mountains; and from a distance the lines are so perfect and the colors and shadows blend together so well that it looks like an artist's rendition of the landscape. Again, another spectacular view. After dining on grilled pork chops and souvlaki seasoned to perfection; postichio; potatoes, Greek salad, spanakopita; and another delicious "skopita" made with pumpkin that I have never tasted before; wine from the cellar; and finally karadopita -- honey cake, for desert, we gluttons drove down the mountain and back home! I have a new favorite drink -- tonic water!

July 4th --- A day of freedom.... Fr. Lou

2010-07-04T01:47:00.000-07:00

After picking Gus, Nichole, and the boys up in Kalamata on the 28th, we have had days at the beach; playing ball outside, and sometimes inside; following grandsons -- especially Elias and Alexander -- around beaches, restaurants, platias, and various other places; a bus ride to Methoni and Pelos; and then last night, a very nice meal Yonnie and Nikki's Angelopoulos' village house. There, we met their daughter Katerina, and her children and also there were Panayiota and George Markopoulos. Panayiota and Nikki are both cousins of mine, originally from Kokkino.

Today, as we celebrate America's freedom, I had the chance to go to Ayios Andreas for Divine Liturgy at the village's 11th century church of the same name. I was received graciously by Fr. Demetrios, the parish priest who is in his 70's, receiving holy communion at the altar of the church that my Papou George Dracos (Dracopoulos) and my Uncle Pete were most assuredly baptized. My Papou (mother's dad) emmigrated to America around 1910 -- returning to fight, I believe, in the Balkan wars. He then returned to America. I said a memorial prayer at the end of liturgy for my Papou George, Yia Yia Genevieve, and Uncle Pete and mom and dad, considering the sacrifices they made for us so that we might have the lives that we have -- able to enjoy our children, grandchildren, and life with all of her blessings.

A funny note: During liturgy, at one point there was a major commotion, with women and children screaming and running outside of the church. As we looked out from the altar, it became apparent that something unwanted had entered through one of the many open windows or doors to the church, that are needed to give freshness to the musty walls of the middle-ages. If I'm not mistaken, it was a rat or a mouse. Although not verified. In any case "it" was chased out and then ever slow slowly, the church began to refill.

When I received holy communion, I had a special feeling of thanksgiving and love, as I considered my ancestors -- those of my mother, Aunt Maria, and my Dracopoulos and Pilafis cousins worshipping at Ayios Andreas for generation upon generation. May their memories be eternal.

Here's wishing all a happy 4th of July (Independence Day) -- True freedom is becoming willing servants of our Lord.
God Bless,
Fr. Lou

Family and friends...

2010-07-03T02:09:00.000-07:00

"Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun, shining down on me.. Note to remember: on the beaches of Greece where in the afternoon, the sun is intensely shining down on you; 30 to 50 SPF, for a couple 0f white boys (or Greek boys), isn't quite high enough. FL and Gus have gone from alabaster white to eggplant purple. Ouch! I had my vinegar/water spray bottle handy to cool them down.

Friendship is a gift. Why people meet, share conversation and then become friends is unexplainable, coming into our lives, touching our hearts in that special way that bonds you forever. Remember that high school "best friend" that was around to share your deepest secrets? The friend you "drove the strip" with while singing out loud and strong, on those warm summer nights, with the wind blowing in your face? Thinking you were pretty cool being old enough to drive without a grownup in the car. Moving from place to place there always seems to be special people to share in monumental moments of our lives. These friends know you well. They know you prefer bangles to beads, unless the beads happen to be real. They know you prefer chocolate over vanilla, and red to white. You may not see or think about these friends for months or even years. But invariably something will come up one day, out of nowhere: a thought, an old song; or oddly enough a familiar scent, and as clear as day, they come to mind. Or... they show up in person, right in front of your face. So here we are in Greece, a million miles from home, and along comes Maria. Maria is one of those friends. She is here with her son Yonnie and his fiance Jenny, who are planning their wedding for next year. It will be at the village "hordio" where his father was born, which is close by. Spending time with dear friends is as if time is standing still. You may look older, or feel older, but when you reunite, it is as if life's metronome hasn't even skipped a beat.

Invited along for the fun, we took a tour-bus ride that Maria arranged in order to "test drive" the experience for next year. Getting to the small village on a 50 passenger bus was no problem at all. When we arrived at the village and drove through the narrow streets it was a different story. We missed the buildings by millimeters. Not inches! This is where the metric system comes in handy. My hands covered my eyes on several turns with the anticipation of hearing that scrape of metal on the side of concrete. Picture a goat giving birth to a hippopotamus! Seriously, I can't believe he made it, without a scrape or a dent or even a ding. And once in, we had to figure out how to turn around. I think Maria was very impressed with the maneuverability of the bus driver, Nikko, but is considering a smaller bus.

The church in the small "hordio" is to be the venue for the wedding. It is located at the top of a pathway of stones where below rests the remains of the house where Yonnie's father, who passed away earlier this year, was born and raised. With Gus' passing, the sentiment for the village and its symbolism is even more poignant. The house is crippled with age, with no roof and walls that are slowly crumbling to the ground. There were many photographs taken. One in particular, was of the remains of a small window framed in gray petrified-wood. It should have been a window to a young boy's bedroom, but now, looking through, it exposes an empty cavity with a view of the hills and farmland beyond. I can't help but think that this view parallels an image that, to be sure, was embedded deeply in his father's memory. From this point, a year from now, with the late afternoon sun reflecting off the shiny worn cobblestones of the street, the new bride will appear ceremoniously walking up the hill toward the church. With wedding garments flowing and her entourage following, she will embark on the familiar path taken by generations before her. The same church bells that rang to announce the passing of Yonnie's father, will ring to announce Yonnie's wedding.

As a young priest in Houston, Father Lou became the youth advisor when Yonnie was barely 14. There were many activities that our family participated in. Chris and Nichole became the mascots to familiar teens who needed just enough parenting to keep them in line. We innocently accepted the responsibility. Now, 25 years later, with history behind, it was a special honor for Father Lou to be able to offer a blessing of their rings and engagement at this small church in a small village in Greece. Something so unplanned, yet it felt like we were meant to be there. Time had stood still.

The rest of the day was spent touring the area. We stopped at the Castle of Methoni and then on to Pelos which is a charming town where we enjoyed ice cream and refreshments, and a little game of cards. I felt like the old men in the village at their umbrella covered cafes. From here we wound our way to another town where, sitting on a patio overlooking a bay of small and large boats, we enjoyed dinner. Well, I wouldn't exactly call it dinner. It was an array of appetizers that covered the table. By the time we were supposed to order the main course, we declined.

The boys fared well throughout the day. They enjoyed ducking in and out of stone walls and arches and overlooking huge cliffs that exposed the vastness of the sea. They ran through the square at Pelos where they rode the familiar coin operated horsey and small merry-go-rounds of cars. The ones that, if riden long enough, you are sure to feel the affects. With that Jack-in-the box melody that plays over and over again, until you can't get it out of your head for the rest of the day. They kicked the ball and chased it throughout the open square, and enjoyed ice cream that melted all over their faces, hands, clothes and bodies. The only place they were not allowed to go was inside the rod iron fence enclosing a statue of a famous general. The fence obviously keeps tourists out to protect it from wear. Let's just say, we fished the ball out of there more than once. By dinner time the challenge was to keep three tired boys entertained for 2 hours while 12 adults enjoy dinner. They actually did very well. Again, Elias came through with the quote of the day when a plate of fried sardines was accidentally placed in front of him and he expressed himself out loud! "What the hell is that?" Out of the mouths of babes!

July

2010-07-02T01:02:00.000-07:00

Peace and quiet can only go so far. Then you have to add some exuberance with expressions that makes you laugh and activity that makes you keep wanting more. Ah, youth! When Chris was added to the mix, so did the shoving and teasing. The jokes were abundant. The interaction between brothers is classic. Then along comes Stelios, and Elias, and Alexander. They hug like professional wrestlers. First they get that look in their eye... then they plant that back foot which allows them that extra power to launch forward into a bear hug, which causes everything and everybody in their way (usually the younger brother) to fall to the floor. Then they innocently stand up as if their mission to conquer was successful. And they move on.

As you get older, does it sometimes seem that your emotions have peaked? Scenes can be breathtaking and -- wow! But it isn't that "Oh my gosh this is the most fabulous, incredible, the best, the coolest thing I have ever seen", kind of emotion. Food can be delicious, but it isn't that "mmm....ummm....ummmm! This is to die for; I can't tell you how good this is"; you have to try this"; kind of experience. Or "goodnight dear, I love you", -- little kiss -- little pat on the back -- "sweet dreams". As opposed to "oooh I love you so much", -- big hugs -- big squeezes, a mmmmaw kiss at least three times, and then more goodnights all the way to bed, kind of thing.

That is why youth is so important. It brings back that freshness, that zest for life. It reminds us what it was like to see and experience for the first time. It is having legs that are about 18" long running down a sidewalk with rubber Crocs on, as fast and furious as you can... head down, arms pumping, barely able to get one leg in front of the other fast enough. Your destination is unknown and you don't care. Just run! Then all of a sudden, there is a hand that grabs your collar from behind, saving you from something you didn't even know you needed saving from. And words "out of the mouths of babes" so innocently spoken and sometimes not so innocently spoken.

We have been to the beach two days in a row. It is best to go early when the sea is calm. The water is clear enough to see the lines and textures of the rocks below and the seaweed that looks like little garden snakes, the waves just lapping at the beach. The water is cold enough to take your breath away when you first step in, but warm enough to refresh you once you take the plunge. Everybody becomes lazy at the beach. Telly is big enough to go far enough in, that he needs to tread water. Goggle clad, he bobs up and down, while exploring the sea floor. Elias is big enough to run along the edge of the water throwing rocks in to watch them sink to the bottom, and laugh and scream at the grownups playing frisbee and football in the water. And Alexander is just big enough to sit in the sand and fill up the plastic toy dump-truck, over and over again. He also picks up rocks to throw, but his path needs a constant reminder to stay clear of Elias. Papou Lou is taking great joy in walking along the beach at a snail's pace to give one, two or three little boys time to study the rocks or a bug or whatever their eye catches. "The really cool things", that grownups miss or take for granted. A rock can be picked up, examined on all sides, held in one hand and then the other and then tossed into the deep blue sea, misplaced forever. Papou Lou is also the best for bathroom runs and carrying in the water that is un-manueverable for little bodies. He can be splashed in the face, (unlike Zsa Zsa), and climbed over with rough sandy bodies, and not complain or flinch (unlike Zsa Zsa). Papou Lou is one with the sea and the breeze right now. He is floating with this experience. I have to tell you the laugh for the day came when Elias said quietly, "Papou Lou, can you take me to my home in New York so I can go poop"? Needless to say, he couldn't, but that's not to say he wouldn't.

Every generation...

2010-06-28T23:24:00.000-07:00

Here I am once again taking in this gorgeous view. I know by now my words have become cliches and somewhat redundant. But I have to say, as I sit here alone, on the veranda, looking out over the sparkling water of the sea, before anyone else wakes up, I am at peace. I have a metal plaque in my garden at home. It reads "... I am closer to God in my garden than any place on earth". I would now have to add "... in my garden or sitting on a veranda in a small town in Greece overlooking the Mediterranean Sea."

When saying the word village, referring to small towns in far-away countries, the image created is somewhat charming, quaint, and a little parochial. If you use the word "hordio", to me the word expresses depth and character. Beginning our journey to Kokkino, we stopped at a gas station to fill up. Gasoline here is not inexpensive, but to our surprise, a service station attendant appeared to "fill 'er up". Remember those words? "Fill 'er up!" When I was a child, (oh here we go), I remember taking vacations. Actually, taking vacations in the 50's and 60's meant piling into the non-air conditioned car, drawing the imaginary lines between my brother and I; the one who crossed it was likely to "get slugged", and heading off to grandma's house. No Disneyland, no vacation at the beach, or a resort in Mexico. Vacations meant going to grandma's for freshly baked bread, freedom to wear shoes in the house, and lots and lots of grandma love.
(Pause -- My thought process was interrupted. Eeyore was just letting everyone know he is awake.)

Driving to that small town in middle-America meant passing through various little "towns" where houses with closed-in porches lined the highway. There was usually a small gas station or two, a local grocery store with the owner's name displayed with an apostrophe. (Typically it wasn't Sam's). There was always a cafe or restaurant with toilets that didn't flush well and faucets that trickled out water, and always that bottle of Coca-Cola where you used a bottle cap remover right at the machine. After a brief stop of greasy hamburgers and chocolate milkshakes made with real homemade ice-cream, we were "on the road again...", trying to make our destination before nightfall. I remember narrow highways and winding roads and pin-point turns as we climbed through the mountains that separated us.

Our destination for Kokkino the "hordio" began in much the same way. We came to the sign with the designated turn reading "Kokkinou 15". We had three option to read it -- Greek spelling, Greek phonetics and English. Turning left, the road was like turning into a driveway leading into a back alley. Very narrow with buildings on both sides. As we broke into the open, the road became a paved goat path of winding turns. First one way for a few miles and then a sharp turn going back the other way. As we climbed the mountain, the panoramic view opened up into a valley of olive trees, grape vines and various other fruit trees. There were churches placed throughout with their familiar dome of red terracotta rising above everything else. They rested on the top of the hills or crests that were the highest point in the area. We didn't have far to go but the drive was slow. As we got higher and higher the road seemed even more narrow. We passed through 5 villages, at least according the signs, before reaching the summit. Looking out, you saw that familiar majestic mountain view of hills and valley, the blue sky, and the white clouds hovering over distant peaks. But here, we add the deep blue sea. Wow! That's all I can say. Well, I could say more but Wow! is enough.
On the other side of the mountain we continued on for a short distance and and then their it was Kokkino. Nestled into the side of the mountain, it was a mixture of the old river-rock and cement huts and the newer white stucco-like concrete two and four-family houses. Jonathan was the designated photographer of the day. He took shots of widowed yia-yias in their traditional black garbs with their black wool knee socks covering their black stockings. Their heads covered. Their wrinkled leather-worn skin and toothless smiles revealed years of outdoor exposure where Estee Lauder didn't exist, and the obvious poverty that prevailed throughout a war torn country. Vacant homes of broken windows and doors revealed empty relics of a past life. The people that once inhabited them have passed away and the space left behind was unclaimed. Did these people have an option to change and they chose not to? What gave those who left, like Lou's papou, Elias, the desire and the determination to leave? Saying goodbye to loved ones, sometimes forever, or in his case, returning only once to find his bride, Eleni, from a "distant" village miles away. A young girl who after an arrangement between her brothers and a stranger, left all that she knew.
We entered the church centered in the town. It was a solid structure built in the late 1800's. Like many of the old churches around, it smelled heavily of must, incense and oil that had been burned over and over. We did a small prayer service together remembering those of past generations. I felt Chris and Jonathan's realization that this was a part of their heritage when they saw gravestones in the local cemetery with their names on them. On the mountain top behind the village a small church, Prophet Elias, was built in remembrance of how religion was their foundation and strength. After a few hours exploring the old house of FL's grandfather, and visiting with a few of the residents, we left. I have to admit, with a sigh of relief.
Reality is sometimes uncomfortable. There are those that have, and those that have not. Seeing how others live in this vast world is an eye-opener. The people of Kokkino, for the most part must be happy, in spite of their look of tired sadness. Maybe as Americans, our expectations and determination comes from those who left that world. Maybe that is why we expect more, have more and want more. Selfishly, I say -- thank you!
Safe and sound, and plenty exhausted, Nichole, Gus, Telly, Elias and Alexander arrived safely in Kalamata. Again the tears of joy were there. Now there were nine!!!

By the sea, by the sea, by the beautiful sea.....

2010-06-27T03:49:00.000-07:00

There is no date or time here. Compared to the big cities of Thessaloniki and Athens, this area of Greece is at the opposite spectrum. The mornings are still with the sun reflecting off the sea. a light breeze blows off the water to keep things just coo0l enough. At this time of day, the sea looks like a hazy blue sky and the mountains on the other side of the water form the clouds. They blend in to one another with the only separation being the silver from the sun's reflection quaking off the water. In the distance, the sounds of birds singing and fussing, are loud enough to wake you. Just down below us is a fenced in pasture with a donkey that periodically lets out a deep loud brae, I've tried to interact with Eyore, but I don't think he speaks English. There is also a goat and about 15 chickens and roosters. They also don't hesitate to wake you in the morning. They don't really seem to have a purpose here, just grazing on the weeds and a little bit of green grass that is very sparse. There are several goats around the area. When they cry out, they sounds like a baby crying for its mother -- ma ma -- ma ma. One could write a children's farm animal book from here and be able to identify most of the animals. The most disturbing however, is the seagulls. They perch up high and they laugh out loud. You would think theywere looking down at you and actually joking amongst themselves at your benefit. The day after we arrived, Nikki and Yonnie, FL's cousin (3x removed), took us to Coroni, a small town at the tip of the peninsula. We sat first at an outdoor cafe. As in most places, there were umbrellas over rattan couches and chairs with a coffee table. We ordered the traditional frappe. Yonnie and Nikke live in Melborne Australia half the year, where their son lives, and then half a year here in a nearby village. Their daughter lives in Kalamata. When they speak English, it is with an Australian accent. "Mondaaai, Tuesdaaai, Wednesdaai....."After coffee, we ascended the cliffs near the water via winding steps. At the top there are the remains of an old castle fortress where on a clear day, you can see forever. The sea is everywhere. The area is now inhabited by and order of nuns. There are small chapels all around, some are old and some are newer. During WWII the Germans took over the area and used it as a camp for prisoners. The ground was dry and the grass completly burnt from the sun. But scattered throughout the dryness are bushes with glorious flowers. They seem to grow wild here We plucked some almonds and figs off of trees in the area. There are very nice vacation homes here, not an over abundance, but the people who live here permanently, appear to be old and worn out. It is a tired country. The tourist industry is Greece's main industry. So far, around the villages here there haven't been a lot of tourist. Very nice for us, but not so for the people here. I always knew that Greeks put a lot of importance in their food, but I have to say, there hasn't been a restaurant or cafe yet that we have been to where the food hasn't been delicious. The meat tastes more flavorful, the vegetables taste fresher and the bread and deserts, and the homemade wine.... am I making you hungry yet? I don't know what I am going to do when I get home. First of all I haven't cooked in about 20 days and secondly, going back to my home cooking will definitely be disappointing. Last night we dined on a patio overlooking the water and by the time we got our fresh grilled octopothi and kalamari, the full moon was rising. Maybe it is just the settings that make the food seem so good. The next day, we went to the beach. The beaches here are sandy with a lot of gravel. Before going further into the water, there is a bed of rocks that you have to pass over. Chris and Jonathan swam in the crystal clear blue water. I'm holding out for warmer weather. The temperature is about 80 to 85 degrees. When you are on the beach, the breeze from the water cools you down so much that, if you are not in the sun, it is almost chilly. You could walk for miles or stay in the sun and it isn't even hot. Sunscreen comes in very handy here. Along the main road that runs along the coast,there are several cafes that serve snacks and appetizers. If you eat there, you are allowed to use their umbrellas and lounge chairs. There is one really nice place directly down the hill from us. It is all Kivotos. It is a very modern bar/cafe with the rattan couches and chairs all facing the ocean. The music playing on the upper terrace, is tradition jazz or American elevator music, and down below as you descend the steps to the beach, there is a DJ playing hip electronic dance music. Every place seems to have a bar and refreshment stand. Once on the beach, at first I was restless. It was difficult to just sit and watch people and relax. Chris and Jonathan enjoyed the water and spent a good part of the day just floating. As the day progressed, the calming sea, a good book and the sun that wasn't too hot, took away any thoughts of moving my body to do anything. In the evening the water changes colors. It becomes darker shades of blue and the turquoise borders become more prominent. The distant mountain still maintain their haze but they appear more majestic at night. We were lucky enough to be able to experience a full moon while here. As it floated up from the horizon, the sky became dark blue and the contrasting moon was a yellow-orange color. It has now taken the place of the sun and the white caps of the sea appear every now and then to get a glimpse of the man in the moon. Shadows appear here and there, but for the most part, the sea is calm. The waves are lazy. They don't pound and pull away at the land. They seem to roll in and roll out. Which seems to set the pace for the rest of the environment here. Calm, lazy, hazy. Later today, we are venturing to Kokkino. FL's grandfather's "hordio" village. Christos and his twin brother are expecting us. I'm not eating too much today in case we have another meal prepared by Maria. Today -- Sunday we awoke to the sound of church bells throughout the area. The churches don't have priests on a regular basis. Tomorrow.... Nichole, Gus and children arrive!!! How great will that be to see them. I Can't wait.

H Patridia (the homeland)!

2010-06-24T23:33:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday, June 23 we were picked up at the hotel, in Athens, by a taxi cab driver named Stathi, who had relatives from the same village as my Papou, which is Kokino. In the 40 minute drive to the airport, we conversed (in Greek) about several different connections of people that he knew and that I knew. [Jonathan, Marsha and Chris, in that order, sat in the backseat wondering what we were talking about.] We then boarded a small plane for the 40 minute flight from Athens to Kalamata. The countryside in Kalamata is far greener than the places we have been before in Greece. When we arrived at the airport Christo Christopulos, and Yanni and Nikki Angelopoulos were waiting excitedly to greet their distant relatives from America. After loading up the luggage, we drove along the coastline to Christo's house where his wife, Maria, had prepared a delicious dinner for us. Christos is a farmer and everything that we ate was prepared from fresh food from their land, including the olives, olive oil, cheese and wine. It was delicious and we were all completely stuffed. They do not know how to speak English so we conversed in Greek for the two hours we were there. [Jonathan, Marsha, and Chris, in that order, sat quietly wondering what we were talking about.] Christos then drove us to our new "home" where we will be staying for the next three weeks, in the town of Chrani. The house belongs to our cousin, George Christopulos, from Chicago. George came to America when he was 18 to go to school. He lived with my family for a short time before he attended the University of Wyoming, and before moving to Chicago for medical school. Our families have remained very close.

When we arrived at the house, the sun was setting. The shutters in the house were closed and as we began opening the doors and windows, we realized that the wait to get here was worth it. The view from the upper balcony looks out over the Mediterranean Sea. In the distance was the shadow of mountains both to the east and to the west. The water was glistening from the sunlight.
The front of the house faces a mountain, where olive trees and spruce trees cover it. Just beyond on the opposite side of the mountain, is my Papou's village. I was getting excited! Everywhere we looked through any open window was a beautiful view. There was a cool breeze blowing through house. We settled in and then sat out on the veranda just to take everything in. Thank you George... Thank you God!

Athens

2010-06-22T22:10:00.000-07:00

"I'm on the top of the world, looking down on creation...." I'm not sure you are familiar with that song by the Carpenters, but wow! I have been to the Acropolis before, but I think every time you experience it you are mesmerized. Standing on top of a lone plateau, nothing in the city is taller. It tells the story of a place that 2500 years ago was built to represent the empire of democracy. Pericles really made a statement with this one! The fact that it is still standing today is amazing. At night the entire hill is lit up like a gold torch. It is magnificent.

Our view from our hotel balcony reveals the rooftops of most of the buildings in Athens. TV and radio antennas abound. Most rooftops are livable space with some plants and trees and tables to use. There is some laundry hanging from clotheslines. There are a lot of airconditioning units and lots and lots of cement. It would be virtually impossible to cleanup a city like this. There are many empty buildings or at least partially empty. The streets are narrow and crowded. But the hills with their rock formations and churches dedicated to their religion surround. The "newer" houses and apartments climb up them like fingers trying to get to the top. Many of the hills are lit up at night and create an honorable view. The Greek flag is displayed proudly atop many of the higher points in town, including the Acropolis. Advertising is done in various ways here. At the present time I am sitting on the rooftop of the hotel and listening to someone yelling from a microphone system on a truck that is traveling around the city. You could probably hear them in the far east as their voices verberate off the buildings. Today there is protesting in the town center against the government's new stance on the pension payout. Jonathan commented on how everyone that speaks in this country yells. They speak loudly and excitedly. I hadn't noticed until he mentioned it.

Adding Chris to the group was like inviting Jerry Seinfeld, Vince Vaughn or Will Farrow to the party. He and Jonathan teamed up like Mutt and Jeff. There was constant commentary on sites we were seeing and people we were passing. It was refreshing and fun. They also have a great time teasing their parents. Belly laughing is a great way to release tension. Let's just say we all seem to be totally relaxed! As we were walking (climbing) to the top of the Acropolis, there was a strange looking character walking down with a little entourage. As he passed, we realized it was Stephen Tyler from Aerosmith. He had his dread locks and bandanna on. He was quite scrawny looking with a rather large face. He passed people by avoiding eye-contact, but participated the same as any other tourist. Jonathan and Chris were both very excited to see him. Then, again in the Plaka, just walking along, there he was. I'm not sure a lot of people knew who he was, but when we spotted him as did a few others, he ducked into a jewelry shop. The doors were closed immediately. That night at dinner, we all got a good laugh when FL began talking about seeing Stephen Tyler from Steppen Wolf!

Walking through the streets of Athens was not pretty. Again, not a pretty city from below. A lot of peddlers on the streets, lots of cars and honking and a lot of people. When we arrived at the Plaka, which is more accommodating to tourists, there were shops all around, some really nice and some okay. Not really the designer district that has popped up so many times throughout our travels. You could buy a Louis Vuitton here, but they are nicer in SOHO. It was a beautiful day. The weather cooperated fully by being slightly overcast with a breeze. The temperature was probably about 80 degrees. I couldn't really tell you in Celsius which is what everything is based on in Europe. Okay, my proverbial question for the day: Why do we do that? Why is there Celsius and the metric system in one country and Fahrenheit and a different unit system in the other? Did somebody somewhere wake up one day and say "let's make life difficult for everyone and start a new measuring system? Strange. There are many Orthodox Churches splashed throughout the city. We saw a few being renovated and many from the 10th and 11th centuries that were not. There is a St. Catherine here that was from the 11th century. Quite old. It is tucked away near the Plaka on side streets between a nicer area of apartment buildings and hotels.

Eating dinner on the roof of a tall building is quite appealing. It reminds me of Richard Gear in Pretty Woman when Julie Roberts asks him; why if he is afraid of heights does he choose the penthouse. He responds "because it's the best". The air was fresh and breezy, the sunset was superb, and the view was, again, spectacular.

On to Kalamata.

Day 14

2010-06-21T21:52:00.000-07:00

I can't believe it has been 14 days since we left? A Part of me feels like it has been forever, and yet time has flown by, as it always seems to. I was very impressed with FL's blogging. This time, I was the one who fell asleep when he started and completed his first blogging session all on his own. Obviously the writing wasn't a problem, but the format for editing and saving and posting can be a little tricky. I can't believe he shared our story of hotel room changes. I tried to be as diplomatic as possible, but disgruntled -- I was. The hotel manager was extremely nice and all turned out exceptionally well as FL explained. As I was plucking the dead flowers off the geraniums, I hear a voice from above. No, not God, it was Georgiou. He was the manager of the garden restaurant up above and he saw me. He called down "poli oraio". He went on to say that I must have a garden because I knew what the flowers needed. (not in Greek -- broken English). I nodded and said "Malista". (in Greek -- I know, proud of me you may be, but don't get excited, my vocabulary is very limited). That night at dinner, on top of the city, he cut a rose for me and said it was for a nice job of trimming back the flower pots. "Evharisto."

Saying good-bye to Thessaloniki, the cab driver took us on a route through a part of town that I wished we would have seen earlier. On the plane from above, I could see more of the landscape and the area outside of the city. It was far more beautiful that what we had experienced in the city. There were rolling hills with what appeared to be large houses dotting the landscape. The area reminded me a lot of Salt Lake City, with the mountains and hills surrounding the city. The fingers of land that FL referred to were prominent, and trimming them all was a turquoise blue edge along the white sandy beaches that was like nothing I have seen. It was as if God took a paint brush and along the edges of land, threw in a brilliant contrasting blue color. He didn't even bother to do shading. At a far distance, forming the left peninsula was Mt. Athos, and on the right, in the distance, were mountains lining the water and a peak which we believed to be Mt. Olympus. What a great place to take a road trip. The entire flight revealed mountains, and islands, and peninsulas and lots and lots of water.

As we approached the Athens airport, I got a little knot in my stomach. I knew Chris would be okay flying on his own -- he is only 26. But a mother never ceases to be concerned. We left instructions on where we would meet him if all worked out. After picking up our luggage and departing the security area, we turned the corner and all my worries were relieved. There sprawled out on a small airport chair was Chris snoozing. He woke up, got up, and we all got a great big hug. A little tear came to my eye. Now there were four.

One more day in Athens to view the Parthenon and its surroundings, then off to the beach in Kalamata.

Mount Athos

2010-06-21T12:42:00.000-07:00

On Friday, June18, Jonathan and I headed for Mt. Athos. At one time there were over 100 monasteries dating back to the 5th century. Now there are 20 active monasteries, most of which are Greek, but a few of different Orthodox jurisdictions including St. Panteleimon a Rusian monastery that once housed 2000 monks and now about 250 to 300. There are 1500 or so monks today in the various monastaries. Our day began at 5:45am for a two hour bus drive from Thessaloniki to Ouranoupolis, at the entrance of the third of three fingers of the Halkidiki peninsulas. We then boarded a ferry for another two hour journey to Daphne, the port of entrance to the Holy Mountain. We were accompanied by about 130 other pilgrims, all men through the magnificent waters of the Aegean Sea, bluer and cleaner than any waters I have ever witnessed. We landed and then proceeded to a small bus waiting for us and some 12 others to the Monastery of Simono Petra, our destination. As we climbed the mountain we observed the breathtaking vistas of the Aegean below and the jagged peak of Mt. Athos above, similar to the majestic 14ers of the Colorado Rockies with the exception that it shoots straight out of the sea. We rounded a bend and there before us, perched like an eagles nest on a high cliff was the 1000 year old Monastery, home now to 55 monastics. We were received with genuine hospitality which included food and drink, shown to our rooms with time for exploration of the area and monastery prior to vespers. I was met and received by Fr. Iakovos, a schoolmate of mine from Seminary who is the Secretary to the Abbot, Fr. Elissaios and a monk at Simono Petra for 25 years. It was very nice to see him and he was a most gracious host. We attended vespers, a meal with the community, and then sat on the highest balcony with Fr. Iakovos, some 1000 feet directly above the sea below and watched a rain storm move in off the waters, including lightning and thunder. We then retired, preparing for the 4am services. Believe it or not, we made it to church with minutes to spare. Although Jonathan did not make it through the entire 3 and a half hour service, which included the midnight Services, hours, Orthros and Divine Liturgy, he was there for the first half of it. The chanting was beautiful, moving nicely and very meldically with a left and right choir going back and forth as Orthodox have done for centuries. The setting, the reverence, the precence of the saints all made for an incredible spiritual and asthetic experience. I failed to mention that the previous night we had a chance to venerate all of the relics at the Monastery which included pieces of the cross of our Lord, relics of St. Simon, St. Mary Magdaline, St. Barbara, St. Demetrios, St. Panteleimon, the left foot of Kyrikos-the little boy martyr whose relics we have at St. Catherine, and many more. After some more exploring of the area and monastery, pictures (which we will send later) we had our final services and a community meal before heading back to Daphne and reversing or steps back to Thessaloniki. A little note, when we got to Daphne a large group got off of the ferry before we boarded and I said to Jonathan, "Lets watch the people get off because I might know someone here". His response was something like, "Yeah, right dad. You're really going to know someone here. No sooner had I responded, "You never know, the Orthodox world is a small one", when someone said "Fr. Lou!". I looked and there was Chris a seminary graduate who visited Fr. Christodoulos a few times in Denver, and St. Catherine and then several other recent graduates of Holy Cross and Timothy Patitsas, leading them. We all embraced and Jonathan was at least mildly impressed at how small indeed the Orthodox world is!

We are now in Athens. Chris got into to town several hours ago. We finished a relaxing dinner on the roof of our hotel and I am gazing upon the beautifully lit Parthenon out my hotel window by our walk out balcony-which has a story all its own that I will complete this blog with. We arranged for two standard rooms at our hotel, paying for them in advance, one for the boys and one for Marsha and me. When we got here, the rooms were much less than we expected, to say the least. We were not very happy. I figured we had just two nights here and we had already paid for it so we could make due. Marsha had other thoughts. She went to the front desk and calmly explained the situation to which the manager essentially offered to us at no extra charge the roof suite, with flowered balcony an all. Marsha liked it so much that she even went through the flower pots and cleaned out the dead geraniums and straightened things up. We spent a good amount of time out on the balcony this evening. When you all are fast asleep, we will be enjoying coffee on our balcony in the morning gazing on the magnificent Parthenon....My wife is pretty special. Love to all from downtown Athens-Home of democracy. Fr. Lou

Thessalonika day 2 and 3

2010-06-19T11:39:00.000-07:00

I had the opportunity to be alone for two days and doing exactly what I wanted when I wanted to. Now FL will tell you that is a normal thing, but that is not really true. For example, if I wanted to walk through one or two of the 300 shoe stores they have in this city, he wouldn't really want to do that. Or, when I came across a really cool store that had some very up-to-date home furnishing, he wouldn't do that either. So, I just strolled. My perspective was a little different today. I walked through the streets pretending I was an American that didn't understand any Greek and wanted to see and experience everything from a tourists perspective. I pulled this off very well. I tried to not be so obvious taking pictures. And wearing my Sketchers shape-ups, I knew I wouldn't be noticed. By the way, if I can't be a spokes-person for them after all the walking I have done, I'm sending them back with a letter. The first place I went was to Starbucks to order a Frappe. I'm not really into picking up souvenirs from every place in the world that I have been, but I have to tell you I had to add the "Starbucks from Thessaloniki" cup to my collection. Oh, by the way, I forgot to mention that there is a universal language that everyone understands. It is called Starbuckian. Yep, no matter where you are in the world, if you walk into Starbucks and order a grande decaf non-fat cappuccino, everybody completely understands you. Woo Hoo! And they all have the same deserts. They have the muffins, the brownies, the juices and the little sandwiches wrapped up in cellophane. I wonder where they make all the things and how they get to all the Starbucks every morning? It is like USA Today. From here I walked through the city tying to experience what life would be like here. At one point, I actually took a horse and buggy ride. You know those movies that you see where people actually do things and then they hit the rewind button and undo them. That is what I wish I had done; rewind the fact that I got in a horse-drawn carriage with a Dutch speaking driver who (and I hate to say this), smelled worse than the horse. I thought I'd get a scenic view of the ocean front. However, as we rode along, the only thing that I saw scenic was the back of the horse. All along the seawall were closed down kiosks lining up side by side. And I was on the inside, away from the water. I could see this was going nowhere fast. (Not fast enough!) I tapped him on the shoulder and told him this was far enough, paid him and got out. Note to self: Not every horse and buggy ride is Central Park! As I walked through the streets, I discovered something about the people here. They have more of a shoe fetish than I do. Every other store was a shoe store with hundreds of shoes. Dressy, casual, sporty, you name it, they had it. The shopping here is pretty amazing. The first day, which was Friday, the streets were filled with very pretty young Greek women. Their makeup was perfect; their hair was typically long, wavy and flowing halfway down their back, or short and very stylish. Dressed in fresh summer dresses, or shorts or skirts, they were typically thin with really nice figures. And they were all shopping. Every street I walked up or down, was for shopping. Very trendy nice stores and the clothes were not inexpensive. Along all these streets there are about two or three or more small cafes or tavernas where, as I mentioned before, the young men and women are sitting out drinking their frappes. I wonder if Greece is the capital of the coffee bean industry? Everybody drinks their frappes. On Saturday, I noticed that most of the people out were men and more middle-aged women or older. The older men were standing around in large groups talking. Most of the younger men I saw, were alone with their chidren, either in strollers or walking. The women seemed to shopping with a purpose or grocery shopping. I hadn't noticed the day before, but the grocery stores blended in with the other stores. You could have a complete grocerly store in a store front. As I continued on, I worked my way down to the theatre district. This area is next to the seawall where the horse didn't take me. I had lunch at an outdoor cafe that was attached to the main theatre. The theatres in Thessaloniki are closed for the summer. The area was pretty nice with a park-like area next to the water. I found a few really cool shops that I enjoyed walking into. And then I made my way back to the hotel. That night I had dinner alone in my room. Our room looks out onto a pier that has a large building on it and some rundown almost collapsed stable-like structures. (I know, doesn't sound that great. I actually don't notice them when I look out.) But over the building, I can see the water. It is a grayish-blue that blends in with the sky. If there weren't large barges and tankers on it, it would be hard to determine where the sky ends and the water begins. Slowly a thunderstorm rolled in. In the distance the misty clouds were touching the water and reflecting the sunlight. I could smell the freshness in the air as the breeze blew in. And then the lightening began. If I had had my choice of music, I could have turned it on the the tempo of the lightening. It was pretty cool to watch. It began to rain here but not hard. The lightening subsided and then it was dark.

FL and Jonathan returned from Mt. Athos on Saturday evening. During dinner we talked about their experience. FL started his blogging for the first time last night. Unfortunately, he was up at 3:30 a.m. for church and fell asleep blogging. I saved the draft and I am sure he will finish it today. I'm hoping Jonathan will write something too. Sunday, it's off to church and then I'm not sure. But I know that Chris leaves Denver at 10:30 a.m. on Sunday for Athens. Please say a prayer for him for a safe trip. Let's hope we can find him at the Athens airport when we arrive on Monday! I can't wait to see him. I wish Charlie could come too.

Mount Athos....

On Friday, the 18th at 6am Jonathan and I left the hotel in Thessaloniki to take a two hour bus drive ( a maximum of 40 miles per hour) on a winding mountain road to Ouranoupolis, at the tip of Mount Athos at which point we received our Dimonitirion - permit to enter Mt. Athos. We then boarded a ferry for the two hour ride to Daphne. The Aegean Sea and the scenery of the peninsula was absolutely magnificent. There are about 125 pilgrims plus clergy allowed to be on Mt. Athos daily, only men. We eventually came to the first monastery and then to five or six more of the twenty that are still functioning on the Holy Mountain before entering the main port of Daphne. The largest of the ones we the beautiful Russian Monastery of St. Panteleimon with its red roofs and green domes. At one time it housed 2000 monks! Probably a few hundred at the present time. Upon .......... (he falls asleep!) More to come.

Thessalonika

2010-06-18T00:23:00.001-07:00

St. Marcella

Every place we have been thus far, the people have seemed solemn. Not really happy and not really sad. They weren't rude or unfriendly, and if you asked for something they were pleasant and gladly responded. As soon as we were on the plane in Brussels, somehow the atmosphere seemed different. People were smiling and talking to one another across the isles. The flight attendants were pleasant and courteous -- very pretty Greek girls with their hair dyed platinum blond and twisted into a bun on the the top of their head like Greek goddesses. I wondered if this was a new style or a requirement to work for Olympic airlines. We first flew to Athens where one of the passengers we had met on the plan, a nice young Greek boy, offered to direct us to our next departure gate. He spoke English very well. We had a nice conversation with him about many things and were impressed with his maturity at such a young age. Vasili was from Thessaloniki and when he learned that FL and Jonathan were going to Mt. Athos, he spoke about a friend who had encouraged him for many years to go, telling him the experience would be life-changing. He hasn't been yet. I think that sometimes we meet people in our lives for a reason. Maybe this chance meeting between this young Greek man and a priest from America was supposed to happen. He will now go to Mt. Athos, become a priest, maybe a bishop and do great things. He will then remember the American priest and his very nice presbytera and son, and bless us always. Hmm.

Okay, I have to be honest here. How does a country with such beauty and rich heritage and special people allow a city to become so rundown? As the taxi drove us through the city, all I saw was old decrepit buildings in need of repair and cleaning up. I was thinking we were just in the bad part of town and that at some point things we would open up into this beautiful California coastline area. There was graffiti everywhere. Posters of performers and adonis' from year's prior, were plastered on walls throughout the city. There are newer clean buildings randomly interspersed between old dirty ones. There is definitely no HOA's here. My first impression was "get me out of here". I was glad our hotel was a newer building. Getting in late, we stayed at the hotel for dinner.

The next morning, we met up with Marianne, a guide recommended by Fr. Luke who was to take us on a tour of the city. we asked Marianne about the condition of the buildings. She explained that apartments were owned and passed down from generations. The land was worth a lot of money, but the buildings not. Being individually owned it was up to the owner to rennovate. Some do and some don't. Our tour began with a short path that took us onto the main streets of the city. Most streets were named after the church which was at the end of the street. Our first stop was St. Sophia's. Interestingly enough, St. Sophia had three daughters, Faith, Hope and Love. Thus the saying "with Wisdom (Sophia), comes faith, hope and love. You can learn something new every day! There is even an icon depicting St. Sophia with her three daughters. Many of the ruins and the churches in Thessaloniki go back to the 3rd century, some even further. The icons were usually frescoes and mosaics, a lot of them had the faces desecrated because of the iconoclastic controversy. When the Turks took over and the Ottoman Empire began its 400 year reign, they plastered over the icons and used the churches for mosques. The churches are still in the process of removing the plaster to expose them. There is a lot of excavation that goes on continually. Apparently, there is an underground rail that is being built. At some point recently the diggers cam upon a site of ruins and discovered a solid gold statue. When something like this happens all work is halted until excavation is complete. After the 1978 earthquake, a whole market area was found, which dated back to the reign of the Roman Empire in the 3rd or 4th century. There were bathhouses and a small coliseum area. I wonder if the people that live here really comprehend the history of their city. We visited several churches but the one I enjoyed the most was St. Demetrius Cathedral where St. Demetrius' relics are held in a sterling silver casket. We learned that his original burial site was behind the altar and from there, fragrant myrrh oozed through the floor to a pool below where people would receive it and miracles were performed. His casket continues to produce myrrh bearing oil and ommit the sweet fragrance. On the feast day of St. Demetrius, the coffin is opened and the fragrant oil is gathered and dispursed for healing. As we venerated the site, the sweet smell permeated the air. This was truly miraculous. There were others buried at this church, the previous bishops of Thessaloniki for example, but there was no fragrance.

So I ponder the question; does one believe so much that a miracle happens? Or, does the miracle happen and we believe? Passing by a small women's' monastery -- St. Theadora, the story is told of a woman and her daughter who were forced to move into a monastery where her aunt was the abyss. The abyss did not care for her and through punishment told her she could not speak to her daughter out of penance. At one point she was forced to stand out in the cold snowy courtyard all night. When the abyss looked out, she saw angels protecting the niece (St. Theadora) and no snow was falling upon her. Realizing she was at fault and the angels were protecting Theadora, she went crazy and died. The daughter became the Abyss. There are stories like this throughout the city. The interesting part here is that there was a caretaker, a very pious but friendly woman who approached us and when she found out Lou was a priest, she took us underground to the place where remnants of the original church was standing. Lou introduced me as Presbytera and then Jonathan. Neither Marianne, (the guide), Jonathan, nor myself heard him say Marcella. But she immediately said Oh Marcella. And showed us an icon of St. Marcella that was in the church. Lou remembers that he told her my baptismal name, but the three of us, standing right there, did not hear the name mentioned. We shall never know. From this small monastery comes an underground spring. The caretakers name was Jerasoula, and we all agreed there was something about her that touched us.

It was a very hot day and we walked, once again, for miles. The streets of the city were busy with people shopping. Cafes line the streets here and lots of people were enjoying their frappes and cigarettes. There were places we could stop and catch the sea breeze passing through invisible tunnels, cooling us just enough to keep us moving on. After five hours of our pilgrimage, we sat at an outdoor cafe near the oceanfront and rested. It is hard to imagine history where people were persecuted for their beliefs and died at the tip of spears drawn by soldiers, as did St. Demetrius. When the freedom to believe was allowed, they proclaimed it loudly by building a place to house their prayers and devotion, and tradition. When you visit these churches and you are familiar with the Orthodox faith, you are not reminded of the oppression of the past, but rather the encouragement of our belief to focus on the present. It is hard to explain my thoughts here, so I will stop trying to sound so philosophical... History does move you.

Later, for dinner, we stepped out of the hotel and walked across the street to a small little taverna we found. There were tables in a courtyard along the side of the street. I was selfishly disappointed in the view of area. There were only a few tables with customers. At one of the tables there were about 6 people. They were speaking Greek and laughing and enjoying themselves. I observed them through the evening and admired their exuberance. Throughout the evening a few different people stopped by to join them and say hi. There was no intimidation on anyone's part to stand up, hug and express out loud their excitement when they saw one another. By the time we had our dinner, the tables were filled. We ordered a bottle of wine and dinner and as the warm humid air hung around us, we were quite comfortable when the sun began to set and the string of party lights attached to walls of the taverna turned on. The three of us discussed our day and then realized that two hours had passed and we were still comfortably talking and picking at our dinner consisting of a Greek village salad, saganaki, and pork souvlaki, which was absolutely delicious. We were even contemplating staying longer for desert and coffee, but it was late and Jonathan and Fl were leaving early in the morning for Mt. Athos. When we turned it down, our waitress looked at us as if we were aliens. Not aliens from America, but from Mars. Next time I think we will enjoy the full course. We asked for the check and 10 minutes later she brought it. No worries, things were good.

Throughout this entire experience, I have to acknowledge that we feel so blessed to have been given this opportunity to experience all that we have and continue to have. I even feel somewhat guilty because it was an abundantly generous gift that we received. In writing these experiences, we don't wish to offend anyone by sounding as if any of this is being taken for granted. We know that it is an experience of a lifetime and we are enjoying it as such. To not do so would be an insult to the Lily Foundation that provided us with this opportunity. I hope that in some way, if you are following and participating in our (mine so far) blogging, that you are getting a taste of our experiences and living somewhat vicariously through us.

More of Thessaloniki tomorrow.... OPA!

Brugge

2010-06-15T23:33:00.000-07:00

Ah Brugge, if you have the opportunity to come here, you must. Any movie with a medieval setting could be filmed here. The town is designed like a wagon wheel and in the center of town is this incredible cathedral (Notre Dame). The tower was being repaired, but we were still able to walk through the interior of the church. Oh my gosh, the statues were so real and intimate. Is was as if they were connecting with you. There were renaissance paintings that were hundreds of years old depicting saints and religious themes. It was a powerfully dramatic church that displayed the crucifix of Jesus behind the altar rising to the ceiling. If one didn't believe in a God or the power of the Spirit, I would think they would now. Just the essence of the church breathes with a reverence and a sacredness that can't be denied. But I must say that there is a heaviness to this. A sadness. Like centuries of people praying with desperation or determination. It is as if their souls are left behind to tend to the weary or the despaired. That is what it feels like here. For some reason it is like the past cannot be left behind.

Our hotel, The House of Peelhardt, is pretty cool. It is adorned with traditional provincial style furnishing and baroque paintings, beautiful chandeliers and oriental rugs. I enjoyed sitting in the parlor area after breakfast sipping a cup of coffee with the sun filtering in through the floor to ceiling windows covered with shears and heavy tapestry curtains. It is very serene with the traditional American 50/60/contemporary music (must be a thing for Europe), playing in the background. This was a mixed blessing for me. I felt like I was in old movie in a town where you could spend days just wandering the brick pathways, window shopping for Belgium lace or chocolate. The art museums and galleries are in abundance as well as artist sitting alongside the pathways painting and sketching the towers and buildings of justice. I could be Lauren Bacall or Kathryn Hepburn, sitting waiting. For what I don't know, but I certainly enjoyed the calmness.
We took a ride on the canal that wraps around the city. Even though the weather was a little blustery, it seemed warmer by the water. The buildings are amazing with their little apartments that people adorn with window pots of geraniums and roses. Their patios had pots filled with trees and flowers. The churches were magnificent. It is definitely the main theme of these European cities; to place the churches in the center of the town square from where everything else filters. They are tall and beautiful edifices dedicated to their God, their heritage, and their way of life. There were gardens with swans and bridges where people were standing and holding hands and just breathing. Time here is standing still.

We met a couple from England. Nikki and Mac. They were such a nice couple. Mac had cerebral palsy and was a bit handicapped. Nikki owned a Harley Davidson shop in a small town near Strattford England which is where Shakespeare is from and close where we plan to visit when we travel through England. We connected really well. They thought that I looked exactly like her best friend and we all took pictures so she could send them to her. Nikki had been in Denver for a HD convention last year and she loved Colorado. She commented on the air and the sky and the mountains. It made us a bit homesick knowing that this is the most beautiful time of year. I try not to think about that too much. I feel more like a time traveler on my quest for the Holy Grail. It was not really our destination, but when you see and feel these churches it definitely touches you in a special way.

Our stay in Brugge was a short one, but definitely a pleasant one. If we ever have the opportunity to travel to Europe again, this would be a place to stop. Just stop. We departed early the next day traveling on the train back to Brussels. Our next stop -- Thessaloniki. "Here's looking at you Kid!"

Oetrange

2010-06-14T12:37:00.000-07:00

One good thing to know about Luxemberg is that the discoteques are open all night and that there are many who party all night. Then they proceed to yell and scream and the police come with their sirens blasting and this took place all night long. Needless to say it was a little difficult getting up in the morning. Our first excursion for the day was to take a train to a small town called Oetrange where my great grandfather was born. I must say, we did a fine job of figuring out exactly which train to take and what time it was leaving. The train ride was only 15 minutes outside of Luxembourg city. No English today. The conductors only speak French and German. As we leave the baron metal yard of the railway station, Luxembourg City appears. The city itself is built around castles on high plateaus protected by rock and stone walls that meet the river below. There are cobblestone streets lines with colorful row houses surrounding the rivers with the towering castles above. In the center of the old town, is the Notre Dame of Luxembourg which is a beautiful church announcing the town's heritage. The government offices surround this area with lush gardens and trees throughout. The countryside is very rich with rolling hills and rich farm-land meadows. I hear the conductor announce Oetrange and I get a chill. I'm actually going to a place where my great grandfather was born. We get ready to depart. The train comes to a halt and we move to the doors. They don't open automatically and we are standing there waiting. Then we realize we should be opening them ourselves. Nothing in English... we suddenly panic realizing we don't know how to get out. We look at each other and realize that the ignorant American's can't figure out how to open the door. The conductor's only concern was to arrive and depart the stations on time. The train moves on. Not to worry, we decide to get out at the next stop. I cxouldn't tell you the name of the next town, but we did figure out how to open the door. Departing the train, there was virtually no one around. This town was surprisingly modern. The houses were close together and not really big, sort of like row houses but well designed. The yards were full of trees and flowers and the back yards opened into large meadows. Most of the cars we saw were Mercedes or BMW's with a few Volkswagens and even Fords. It didn't look like an old country village at all but more like a resort town. There were no buses running because it was Sunday. Not sure whether or not we would find anyone who could help us find our way, we decided to walk. As we turned the corner, appearing out of nowhere was what we thought to be a mirage... could it be true? Yes! A Greek Restaurant in the heart of this small town in Luxembourg. Eureka! As we approached we could smell the familiar olive oil, garlic, oregano, placed ever so heavily upon any edible surface that it could possibly find. People were leisurely dining on the patio. We walked in with confidence, knowing that George or Nick or Spyro will be able to help us find our way. Either the waitress didn't understand our English, or anyone, anywhere can open a restaurant and give it a Greek name with a blue and white sign and columns. According to her, there was nobody there that could speak Greek, and even worse, the owner was not Greek. So we asked for the distance to Oetrange, which she advised us was about 4 or 5 kilometers. (About 2 miles) straight down the road. This is now known as flying by the seat of your pants. Enjoy the scenery as we strolled through town, we took pictures of the neighborhoods and the meadows. It was actually quite enjoyable for a while. We passed through about 3 adjoining towns. Getting the feel of the lifestyle and the countryside. I began to imagine my great grandfather walking through the same areas, breathing the same air and enjoying the same blue skies. After about an hour and a half, we realized the waitress was probably not the best person to get any information from. We had walked about 7 miles. At one point I felt like the Von Trapp family wandering the through the countryside with our knappsacks. Jonathan begged me to stop singing Do Re Mi after starting at the beginning several times. The area was so beautiful, it made me wonder why anybody would want to leave this and move to an unknown country so far away from home. And why wouldn't they pass on this heritage to their children or their grandchildren. I don't believe any of my family have ever come back to visit. No worries, we finally arrived at Oetrange. Usually records are kept at the churches which are typically located in the center of the towns. The cemetaries are usually connected. They are also great landmarks because they tower above everything else. Unfortunately, the church was locked and there was nobody around. There was a cemetary but most of the graves were newer. We were not able to read the name on the older graves. But all of this didn't really matter. What was important was that I was in the same town where my great grandfather was born on the other side of the world. We walked back to the train station and caught the next train back to Luxembourg.

At the restaurant that night we met a couple from Belgium. The husband was quite a character and was very familiar with movie stars and singers. His favorites were Dean Martin and John Denver. His English was very limited but he did a great job of communicating. His wife's English wasn't nearly as good, but we totally understood her when she commented that Jonathan looked like the boy that went to Hogwarts -- Harry Potter. That was funny.

The next night we slept so much better. After breakfast we toured the town of Luxembourg. All in all, it was a very moving experience coming here. Beyond the tourist attractions, visiting the town of Oetrange and wandering through the countryside, this is my heritage. I am a part of this. I am Luxembourgian. Wow!

Aurevoir

2010-06-13T11:00:00.000-07:00

The Church of St. M. Magdleine

The last day in Paris was somewhat a leisure one. We walked along the Rue de Madelein where the Church of St. Mary Magdelin rests, in the center of the square. One would expect to see a typical church with its skyward spires and crosses. This church is the size of the Parthenon. It looks like the Parthenon. The outside has elaborate sculptures in relief, of Jesus and the apostles. Columns surround the outside pretending to hold the structure up. The inside is designed very similar to Notre Dame. There are beautiful statues throughout where candles are lit and prayers are read.

When I see the artwork on these buildings and the detail used, it is incomprehensible how such things can be created. From the center of the square we walked about 3 miles to the gardens in front of the Louvre. The French not only love their architecture, they spare no expense on their gardens. When one looks at the Louvre, it doesn't appear to be a museum at all. It is a huge (I know I use that word too much, but I don't know how else to describe it), U-shaped fortress. Large domes with gargoyles and statues. Directly in front is an Arch which Napolean had built. It holds up the statue of a horse-drawn chariot, Oh, and did I mention the horses and chariot are blue? Not a worn out tired blue --a beautiful bright blue. We almost talked ourselves out of going into the Louvre. After three days of walking and sight-seeing we were ready to rest. I'm so glad we didn't. This place seems to have no beginning and no end. I learned two things about Paris yesterday. The first: If seeing the Louvre is part of your "bucket list", you should go as soon as possible because it will take 20 years to see everythinig this famous museum has to offer. No. 2 is: always carry plenty of euro change with you in case you need to use the restroom. There are no exceptions here. Any look of desparation dos not work. You simply have to pay to get in. I learned the hard way. I don't want this blog to read like a history book so I won't go into details about when why and how the Louvre was built, what is remarkable to me is the size. If you were to move the Louvre to Denver, you would have to clear the downtown area out. Between the gardens, the square and the buildings --

Saying goodbye to Paris was okay. Three days of sight-seeing was perfect. I know there is so much more to see and experience here. But walking was a great way to "feel" the city. Moving on, we packed our bags and took a cab to the train station heading for Luxembourg. The train was to leave at 4:09 sharp. It did, and I was on it! It was a little cumbersome carrying all our bags onto the train, but we settled in just fine. Jonathan might describe it a little differently, but who needs young sarcastic humor?

Why is it that train stations seem to be in the worst part of town? When pulling out we saw the industrial sector and the tenament housing with graffitti everywhere. After about 15 minutes, the plush farmlands began to appear. Everything was like a picture book: Rolling hills, plowed to perfection; round bails of hay perfectly placed in the midst of green pastures; with patches of bright green healthy trees that obviously get plenty to drink. The farm houses were few and far between with their a-framed red tile roofs. The train was very fast and smooth. Zipping along we passed another train and it felt like a ghost and just flashed by our eyes. As I sat mesmerized by the whole experience, I began to have sort of a Dr. Zivago type experience. We were so far from home, not having any real contacts here. A language barrier is a loney thing. I could hear "Laura's Theme" playing in the background. (not really).

Arriving at the station in Luxembourg, we departed and hailed a cab. Well, really they were just parked outside. The cab driver loaded our bags into his trunk as we stammered through the name of our hotel and the address. He then took the bags out and pointed across the street. We walked. Most people here speak French. So far it has been hard for me to determine what a true French person or Luxembourgian person looks like. Most people look like you could walk up to them and begin speaking English. Just like Americans. Luxembourg is its own country My paternal great grandfather is from a small town about 20 miles from Lux. His name was Nicholas Erpledange and he was born in 1870. He left for America, settling in Nebraska in 1884 where he ran a farm. (From this to Neb. -- go figure?) He had 11 children. My grandmother Gertrude, never experienced Luxembourg. To my knowledge they never came back. There are 3 cities in Lux. named Erpeldang. It is strictly a Luxembourgian name. After a late dinner it didn't take long to welcome a good night's sleep. As I closed my eyes, it was hard for me to grasp the fact that just 2 generations ago, a little over 100 years, my great great grandfather was here.

P.S. My spellcheck is not in German so I can't check. All my words appear to be mispelled -- how funny!

I love Paris in the Summer when it sizzles....

2010-06-11T14:18:00.000-07:00

It really wasn't sizzling today. I just like the song.... The Eiffel Tower. Wow. One of the 8 great wonders of the world. And we were on it. I think it is comparable to the World Trade Centers -- except still standing, or the Empire State Building. Lots of tourists, lots of cameras and lots to see. I can't believe Paris is as big as it is. The small part that we see (and it really isn't small), with all it's history and buildings, barely makes a dent in the expanse of the entire city. I bet most of the Parisian's don't even come downtown. Hundreds of apartment buildings. The difference between here and NY is that they are all the same color. And maybe the language. NY might not have as many French speaking. Also, we don't sell the funny little plastic models of the Eiffel Tower hooked on what appears to be a giant key ring.

We returned after walking most of the day to a relaxing dinner at the hotel restaurant. The doors were open and the air from outside was drifting in. We could hear the cars passing by and the people walking in the streets were within earshot of our conversation. We met a couple of ladies from America. It was funny because I was listening to these ladies speaking. and it seemed so normal to hear English. Then it dawned on me that I was listening to English in a foreign county. Hello! Conversation pursued with exchanges back and forth on where are you from and why are you here.

As we experience a lot of the local atmosphere, it has come to our attention that most of the French are crazy about soccer. It has also come to our attention that the World Cup soccer tournament has begun and a lot of Paris is excited. As we were dining tonight in the restaurant, intensity was brewing as the game progressed and not only could you hear cries from our location, but throughout the street. We were aware that people were watching on big screen T.V's and cheering loudly. As I was carrying on what I felt was a normal conversation with FL and Jonathan, I noticed that the attention I thought I had was not completely focused on what I had to say. They were actually watching and getting into the excitement of the game. So here we are, halfway around the world, after watching the NBA playoffs, the Rockies playing night after night, Tiger Woods competing the latest golf tournaments, and of course the tennis tournaments going on, I can now be ignored for the World Cup Soccer championship. Some things just don't change.

As the day ends, we look forward to our trip to the Louvre tomorrow. And then off to Luxembourg. It is a country approximately 30 miles in diameter. My grandmother's family is from there. We arrive tomorrow night and hope to be able to go to church on Sunday where my great grandfather was baptized and my great great grandfather was buried. I know..... exciting. I will give more updates on the Erpleding family history when I get to Luxembourg. We travel by Euro rail tomorrow evening. I have no clue what is to come but I will keep you up to date.

Again, FL would say something, but he is sound asleep. Jonathan is sketching in his sketchbook at the window of our hotel looking out onto the Rue De St. Honore. Here they actually let you open windows and let in the fresh air. Viva la France! Until tomorrow....

2010-06-11T04:23:00.000-07:00

Good morning all,

Day 2.5 in Paris. Today we walked and walked and walked. There is so much to see here. The architecture is amazing and the streets are overflowing with people and activities. We traveled from our hotel passing by the Grand Museum and the Petite Museum. When they say Grand they certainly mean it. When they say Petite -- it doesn't appear to translate the same -- huge. Grand museums and architecture, there is really a lot to see here. We walked about 6 miles along the Seine River, passing the Louvre (which comes later), and magnificent churches and edifices. I almost got a gold ring from a person on the street who said he found it and handed it to me, just to turn around later and ask for money. Being very persistent, I returned the ring and walked away.

We had lunch at a local cafe on a cobble street and watched the passers-by. I order something that I thought might taste good. I couldn't repeat the name. But I knew it was a sandwich of some sort and I thought I could reason my way through the description. Oops. I had ordered an open-faced egg sandwich, sunny-side up as we Americans would say, with melted cheese. FL and I switched. The French onion soup was delicious. Jonathan is sticking with his new passion -- club sandwiches. The fashion on the streets is very conservative. Mostly skinny jeans and moderate lenghth skirts with boots or sandals. Nothing too over-the-top, and not much color. The people are friendly but they don't seem to smile too much. They are helpful when you need it but don't appear eager to help.

Moving on, feeling more refreshed, we walked to the Luxembourg Gardens, which is a huge park with fabulous landscaping. Lots of flowers and pots and trees and people recreating. There were two open-air concerts. Very relaxing. We wandered back through the cobblestone streets and rows of buildings with store-front shops. Great for window shopping.
Later we took a cab to the Eiffel Tower (as shown right - obviously), but decided it was a little windy and cool to go up. We had dinner at a lovely restaurant at about 10 p.m. I cannot believe how many people are out late. We didn't finish until midnight. Feeling adventurous, we decided to walk back to the hotel only to find that we really didn't know where we were. Even asking directions didn't help. So we picked up a cab. It feels very safe here because there are so many people out. Today (Friday, I think), we are going to experience the Louvre and definitely go back to the Eiffel Tower.

We are all enjoying the experience. Jonathan is giving FL a hard time because when he (FL) tries to communicate with the French, he (FL) begins speaking broken English with some kind of accent that we can't really decipher. I don't think the French can either. The imitating is quite comical.

We are off and running for the day. Bon Apetite!
(That is the only French she knows -- Jonathan)
(I know. I should have studied harder in my college French class! - M)

From Paris with Love

2010-06-09T15:13:00.000-07:00

It is finally here. D-Day (Departure Date). We finished the yard work, finished all our preparations that we left until the last minute -- why does that happen? Two years to prepare and it still goes to the last minute. Hopefully we coverd everything that needed to be accomplished. Before we left I took a walk with Charlie. I wanted to breath in the Colorado air and look at the evening sky in all of its glory. I knew that, even though there was excitement for our new adventure, 45 days was a long time to be away from home. So with all of its splender I bade farewell to that wonderous Colorado sunset. Charlie and I turned and went home.

That was approximately 48 hours ago. And now our journey has begun. We landed at London's Heathrow Airport about 12:00 noon today after a late night flight. The airport was clean and bursting with actitivity. What a cool airport. We arrived at our first destination -- Paris -- at about 7:30 p.m. The airport here is older. Paris is very green and busy. At first it reminded us a lot of New York City. We arrived at our hotel where we are actually staying directly across from the American Embassy and around the corner from the Presidential Palace. Just glanced in but it looks beautiful. There are a lot of policeman around.

We are all very tired having been up for close to 24 hours, but we walked to a sidewalk cafe. I know that this short excursion from our hotel to the cafe had nothing to do with every generation except I have to say that there are a few generations in my family who could really appreciate it ... Every designer boutique you could image was within walking distance. Lou and Jonathan didn't realize I knew so much French! Let's see; I saw Hermes, I saw Channel, I saw Cartier, Perla, Gottier, just to name a few. But wait there were more: Valentino, Ralph Lauren, Gucci... and that was only within 2 blocks! I really didn't have time to stop in and it isn't really what we came for, but the window shopping for those 30 minutes was outstanding!

Tomorrow, the journey begins. Paris isn't necessarily the place where any of our ancestors actually lived, (that we know of), but I'm sure that if they had the opportunity. it would have been a city that they would have visited. So we are visiting in their honor. I am going to close for now because my brain is shutting down due to lack of sleep. I'm sure if FL and Jonathan were still awake they would have something to add. But, for today, we say goodnight "with love, from Paris".

Charlie

2010-05-24T17:36:00.000-07:00

Sad doggy. This is Charlie. He will be staying behind. As the suitcases come out he knows something is going on.

Less than two weeks and counting, we are making our lists and adding to them daily. It is endless. Just when I think we are getting to the end, more things pop into our heads. We will be meeting with the travel agent this week. The only way to go. All tickets, including air fare, hotels, B&B's, rails and cars were taken care of by our agent. She was great.

As far as Fr. Lou's (FL) sabbaticle is going, the first few days he just sat and looked around. As if he didn't know where he was or what he was supposed to do. He didn't want my help with any suggestions! By mid-week, he was golfing, having a beer with lunch and napping in the afternoon. I have to say, having dinner together every night was pretty strange. The big adjustment will be the flipping of channels to sporting events during my regular TV series viewing. Oh yes, and the dumb jokes. I knew they were coming. Deacon Paul is going to give me a walking counter. Instead of counting steps, every time Lou makes a dumb joke, I will click it. I hope it can handle it. For example: The Today Show had a lady on named Rochelle. He (FL) asked if she was an old Rochelle or a "new Rochelle". I know.... I know...

Three months, three weeks and counting!