Going Greek

Every year, usually in the early part of spring, I get this urge to “go Greek”. My Greek Day is often inspired by a combination of the color and the weather sometimes experienced in our New England Spring – a clear blue sky, the feeling of warmth when standing in sun, an increasing intensity of light, and the calmness that comes with little or no wind, and a fresh and shiny look to just about everything outdoors. This combination of conditions tends to take me back to the time I lived for the best part of a year on the Greek island of Lesvos.

“I need a time out!” I remember saying to my friends. “I need to get away where I can do nothing for a while.” Work and family life had been intense for a few years and I was also going through that mid-life questioning as to what really mattered in life. Through some connections I discovered the village of Molivos. With the help of my connection's friend who lived there I rented a house for six months for not a whole lot of drachma, bought tickets, took a crash course in Greek at the local community college, and then headed for the land of Helen and Hercules.

While that was then and this is now and I no longer have the urge to drop it all and head for the Greek islands, I do seem to get that pang of nostalgia every spring and it must be fed. This year I was ready for it. Before the urge hit I noticed a set of outdoor furniture on sale at the local hardware store. It was perfect. A blue sun umbrella with table and four chairs with blue and white stripes. A perfect likeness to the Greek flag. Just what I needed to prepare for my poolside Greek experience and I already had the grill.

Outdoor cooking over a charcoal grill was how most of the tavernas I had frequented in Greece did it. My favorite was surrounded by ocean on three sides.  The relaxed atmosphere, the great food, the stunning light, and the good wine did it. Who could worry about anything much while lazing under an umbrella by the ocean and enjoying a four hour lunch?

Taverna by the Sea

This photo of George's Fish Taverna is courtesy of TripAdvisor

It was early June this year when it happened. I was home for the day with no major commitments. The pool was open and I needed a day off.  Some cold beer, a chilled bottle of retsina, some octopus for the grill, and the ingredients for a real Greek salad, and all was set.

The grill was fired, some twangy bouzouki music blasted from the stereo, and the cooler was reachable beside the blue and white chairs where I sat, wearing only a swimsuit and sunglasses to soak up the sun and to eat and drink to all that was good in life.  I moved slowly as I grilled the octopus and prepared the salad.  Time did not matter today, and grilled octopus takes about 45 minutes to make it tender anyway, but who cares?

Grilled Octpus

Not Greece but Pretending

In Greece I was often surprised how quickly a day of doing nothing could pass so quickly. On many days my walk to the beach,  a bare half mile from my house,  could take up to two or three hours. Mostly it was stopping for coffee with neighbors. “Iassou, Mikalis! Ti pinis? Kafé?” I had become a regular at two or three houses along the way to the beach and felt great about accepting the hospitality offered, despite an awareness of a growing addiction for the thick sweet dark liquid that was brewed in the little pots on the stove and known as coffee.  It bore no resemblance to anything I had previously called by that name. The only problem was that by the time I got to the beach I was buzzing,  and any chance of dozing in the sun was long gone. My “going Greek” day at home was different. No ‘kafe’.

The memories soon begin to float to awareness as I lazed in the sun beside the pool.  It had been a strange time – probably one of a few times in my life when I had surrendered to hedonism beyond balance. Days were full of nothing but eating, drinking, and loving. I could feel "Zorba the Greek" springing to life from within and nothing seemed to matter. The music drew me back to wild rides over mountainous roads to raucous celebrations in neighboring villages and nights of ouzo and the smoke filled haze in the tavernas. My understanding of Greek had grown to the point that I could hold conversations long into the night with my new Greek and European friends. The end agreement of such conversations were usually always the same - nothing really mattered. Live for the moment!  Do it now! My time in Greece had given me a look at freedom, nihilism, and existentialism,  although I really didn't know it all at the time.  It also gave me consequences - a volatile and disintegrating relationship, questions about my integrity, and a lot of work to do to find balance in my life again.

Today, I look back and ask.  "What did this particular chapter in my life teach me?"

I know full well that Zorba is a part of me, and he is alive and well.  I also know that he needs exercise from time to time, and that he needs to do it within context.  The context of my life today, my priorities, the people I love, the things I value and all of the commitments I want to keep.  It was great to find him then and give him room to express, however awkwardly -  a great teacher. And today he gives me yet another lesson.

Can I expect my children to learn from my journey?  Probably not.  Yet I can relax in knowing that who I am today is a product of who I was then, but not the same.  My children learn from both - me then and me now.  They take a little piece of my Zorba.  And I think they know how to handle him more like I do today - room to play but not overpower.  But they still have their own lessons to learn in life which are not the same as mine, and they will undoubtedly set up their life to learn them, just as I did.  "Iassou, Zorba!"