Sofia for a long time i have not hear form you.I hope you are ok.Today I cook

yiovarlakia and stuffed zukkini (kolokithakia green).I was hoping you were going

to
come. The food was good.I called you and there was no answer.




Love,Mama

*************************************************************************

I*am*stuck*home*sick*and*missing*an*awesome*dance*party

Yeah, cry me a river, eh?

BOO!

AMONG the men and women, the multitude,
I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs,
Acknowledging none else—not parent, wife, husband, brother, child, any nearer than I am;
Some are baffled—But that one is not—that one knows me.

Ah, lover and perfect equal!
I meant that you should discover me so, by my faint indirections;
And I, when I meet you, mean to discover you by the like in you.

by Walt Whitman

* today * was * hard *

I have no computer, no TV, no music

no money, no man, no car

no beer, no phone, no food

no future, no past, no peace

***

I have
a soul
a dog
a smile
a heart
and five plants, two of which flower

* today * was * hard *

***

One day I will die and they will put me in the earth, cover me with dirt, and (happily) I will be forgotten. I hope they have some sense and turn me to dust and sprinkle me somewhere like the seasoning I shake into my salads.

I'd like to season something.

First blog entry.

Ummm... Yeah, so...

Well, I'm a librarian, and recently arranged to borrow these books that were published in 1926. That old book smell hit me, brought me back to my great-aunt's apartment in Athens, Greece. She was old when I visited her, and the strain of her life had caught up to her. She had lived through two world wars, a dictatorship, a long and violent civil war, waves of refugees, so forth and so on. These experiences caused her to hoard items. At one count there were tens of rolls of toilet paper stacked against the bedroom wall, chest-high on a young girl. The bathtub had wooden planks, one on each end, to create storage space. One plank end had boxes and boxes of Tide powder detergent. She was afraid that flushing would break the toilet.

Childless, Violetta had cared for the family's long-term ill. This caused her also to treat everyone as though they might drop dead or have a seizure or whatnot. She would mutter angrily if my sister or I closed the bathroom door, and would caution us to be careful on the balcony because the devil could come up and pull us down to hell. I have always been very sensitive around high strung crazy women, and the oppression was so great that I could not sleep in that apartment. I would drag my blankets onto the balcony, we're talking in the middle of urban Athens, and sleep out there, waking with the dewey chill of dawn. No matter how hot the day, it was always cold just before the sun broke over the horizon.

Twice I stayed with her, and twice it took no more than 5 hours flat for me to collapse into a mess of tears, despite my resolve to be compassionate and strong. Her frenetic need to care and to watch, her fear of normal life, and the pervasive stink of hopelessness was too much.

Violetta has since died. As an adult, I am told that I look like her, and this makes me proud. She was beautiful when young, but more importantly I like the idea of having a connection to her, even though it's only physical. I never once doubted her pure and strong love for me, despite my childish inability to tolerate her. Guilt, love and loss, are complex.