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Bus comes, bus goes

Seven years ago, I took the bus to work. Both kids were little. I remember picking them up at the Y, rushing to get there before 6 pm. I’m guessing Adam dropped them off, since I don’t remember it. I drove to the tiny lot near the bus stop for that reason, and stressed about parking every day. Over time, I made friends with the people at my stop. I got to know the folks on the bus by sight, if not name. I read a whole lot of frivolous novels. I was kind of sad when that commute came to an end.

Then the word came that my office was moving from Cambridge to Boston for a little while – about 9 months. I’d been very tired of driving anyway, so driving into Boston was a no.

Now there are no daycare pickups (thank heavens!) And there is a beautiful new Greenway almost directly connecting my home and that bus stop with a brisk 20 minute walk. So here I am again, sitting in the 354, headed to work!

Remembering Del Loder

The struggle of explaining my relationship with Del always started with how to describe him to people who didn’t know him. I usually settled on calling him my Godfather. It had the right ring of near-familial without blood-relation to it, and in some ways it was quite true. Of course, Presbyterians don’t usually do godparents, and Del had been a few continents away when I was born and christened.

What he started as was my grandfather’s best friend. They’d been Boy Scout leaders together most of their adult life, although Del was a decade younger than my grandfather. In my earliest memories of him, I’m probably 7 or 8. We made the trek to Seattle to visit my grandparents for a great family tradition: the annual Gilbert & Sullivan outing. I’m not sure exactly which show it was, but I remember seeing Yoeman of the Guard, so it was then or earlier. My grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles, cousins and various family friends were all there – a huge crowd of us for dinner, a speech by Del about the play we were about to see, and the play itself. A few years later, after the performance, he asked my parents if my sister Heidi might be able to join him for some other plays, and with their assent, a new relationship was born.

My turn came when my sister got too busy to attend the plays, perhaps around my freshman year of high school? Del and I had so much fun together, we had to set a rule that we could only have an event in Seattle once a week during the school year. (Seattle was a 2 hour drive for me. My Jr. year of high school I put 1000 miles a week on my parent’s car.) He brought me along with him with his season tickets to the ACT, Seattle Rep (I nearly died of embarrassment when we caught “Angels in America” there when I was 16), Intiman, Seattle Opera (my favorite – he got me a signed copy of Lohengrin by Ben Heppner which shows how in tune he was with my obsessions) and “Oregon Shakespeare Festival. We also caught musicals at the Paramount, and the periodic Seattle Symphony Orchestra concert (my favorite was New Years ’98 concert in Benaroya Hall’s inaugural year). Throughout high school (and summers in college!) I got a world class arts education, first hand, from Del.

Del was in almost all our family pictures

It wasn’t just that we watched the plays together, either. Most of our outings included a dinner. I remember one night eating at the Four Seasons in Seattle where he apologized to my future husband, who would not be able to take me anywhere fancier to propose to me. (In point of fact, Adam took me to Applebees. After Del had met him and approved of my then-boyfriend, he’d offered the advice that Adam should take me to Der Rosenkavilier to pop the question.) We had car rides to the plays, dinner before hand, the plays themselves, and then the post-play breakdown. I almost always loved it, but recall Dels’ surprise when I was particularly critical of 7 Guitars when it premiered Seattle. We skipped it when it subsequently showed in Ashland.

Del and I talked a lot. About everything. We talked about the shows we’d seen and would be seeing. He spun me extremely specific tales of Seattle of yore – the people, places & events. He witnessed much of the city’s growth from a regional backwater to nationally important center. At the height of Microsoft’s power and dominance, we even once sat behind Bill & Melinda Gates at a relatively exclusive showing! He told me about my grandparents, and my father as a young scout. He talked about Baden-Powell, and the Order of the Arrow, and his mother. He told me how his parents would take him out to fancy balls, and he’d explore with the other kids and then fall asleep in the coat room. He told me how the doctors believed he’d been a twin in utero, due to the mirror-placement of his internal organs. He talked about KING TV, and the day he had a heart attack at his desk at work, died, and was brought back. From that day on, without fail, he ALWAYS ordered the salmon at dinner. Always. He’d encourage me to get creme brulee for dessert and then stare at me wistfully while I ate it. I particularly remember the long drive from Ashland back home to Mineral, where he spent no less than two hours explaining the whole concept of an “HMO” to me, and how it would work amazingly, back when that was a brand new concept to the world.

He was also always there for me. I am not sure I played in an orchestra concert where he wasn’t in the crowd, nodding his approval. He noted my interests and helped me pursue them. Most of the time when I met up with him, he had newspaper clippings he thought I’d be interested in. He never forgot a birthday. As time went on, he was increasingly at every Thanksgiving or Christmas gathering. My mom kept tea in the cupboard, which only he ever drank. After I left to go for college, Del and I were frequent correspondents.

My parents, in a sign just how much he was truly family, stepped in when it became clear that he could no longer live alone. They tackled with love and compassion the task of preparing a home he’d lived in for 75 years (which, in all our time together, I’d never once seen) for sale and a new generation. My mother says that in all the extensive files he kept, I was his longest & most voluble correspondent. My parents have been with him since, treating him like the grandfather to me he is like. My father kept vigil with him today, as his breathing became unsteady, labored and then finally ceased.

My relationship with Del was just one chapter in the book of a great man. There are many who look at his life’s work, and can be forgiven for thinking he dedicated it to excellence in the way they knew him. His scouting service was legendary. His name is inscribed in the outdoor theater at Ashland. He had an eidetic memory, and could (and would) give you the life histories of all the important people ever buried in Queen Anne Hill. He was a great patron and lover of the arts. He also worked a full career, starting with pushing elevator button on the Smith Tower (a favorite topic of conversation), through the rise of television.

He was a remarkable and generous man, and I’ll be forever grateful that he gave me so many rich gifts: of experiences, tickets, meals, marble heads of Wagner (ok, only one of those), but mostly – his time.

If you have any remembrances to share, or want to learn more about this amazing person, you can visit delloder.com

Sweet Hour of Prayer

This post is best read while listening to “Sweet Hour of Prayer” by Anonymous 4. Their whole “American Angels” album is worth a listen for those to whom this post will resonate.

Harkness Chapel was home to the Compline service, some of my most meaningful worship

I always liked to joke that I am an “Born the first time around” Christian. I was a missionary baby born in the hospital my father helped run in the Congo. My earliest days were a compassionate example, as my mother visibly nursed me to show that this healthy & cheap option was good for any child. I was baptized by Pastor Kafiamba – fire-eater. My first memory of music were the songs of Maranatha when I was three. And I have never fallen away from church, from my faith, from my God. Even in college, the notorious time of not-going-to-church, I was one of a faithful handful who attended Sunday and Wednesday services, huddling in a tiny corner of the vast and magnificent Harkness Chapel.

My good-church-person resume is extensive. I’ve been a member of the Presbyterian Church in Burlington for nearly 20 years. I’m on session. I am a Sunday School teacher. I run the website. I have served on almost every committee a person can serve on. I show up on Sundays, and sometimes Tuesdays. I ran the process to listen to what mission God calls us to, and led the search for our new pastor. I run the Christmas pageant, play trumpet, serve communion, bring coffee hour treats, and can walk through the halls in total dark without stumbling.

But lately, it’s been harder and harder to reach that font of living water, and I have felt my soul getting parched. I suspect some of this has to do with age. Nothing feels quite as vivid or fresh or spooky-special at 40+ as it did when I was 19. Repeated experiences, like sitting in the pew on a Sunday morning, can either gradually add to or gradually wear away at meaning. Or sometimes, both. But in the last decade or so, as my labors have increased, my deep connection to the “why” of those labors has started to wear thin. Simply put – my heart has been growing hungrier, even as I do the things I’ve always done to feed it.

After grace. I think that might be my cousin, since my hair was never that neat in my entire life.

When I think of my mother’s parents, their deep faith and devotion are a huge part of what I remember. They had two chairs in the living room, with a big bookcase on one side. One for her, and one for him. And every day, often in the quiet cool of the morning, they would sit in those chairs with their well-loved Bibles and pray and read. Both those Bibles are still in their hands, in the cool quiet of their shared tomb – a fact I often reflect on. But this time of prayer was central to their lives, if always a little foreign to me (and hard to stay quiet for, when I was wee).

In this desert-time in my spiritual journey, I’m looking hard for things that fill my cup, and inspire me. I’m looking for things that make me feel big feelings, and have a heart overspilling with unnameable emotion. I’m looking to have mind and heart and soul be more expansive, and to see a world that is grander and more mysterious than the narrow boundaries of my life. And so, into the cracks of time my schedule permits, I’m trying plants expansive seeds of soul-dilation.

And that brings me back to the sweet hour of prayer. (OK ok, honestly, sweet fifteen minutes.) I’ve started creating my own sanctuary and litany. My quietest time is morning, after my boys are all already gone to school and work. (I am not a morning person.) I sit on the white chair by the window and look out at the morning and the sky and try the rusty skill of prayer. I’m really not very good at it for someone who’s working on their fifth decade of Being Christian.

Then I sing a hymn. Hymns are my emotional soft spot, especially the old ones (like Sweet Hour of Prayer). Grey accused me of “flexing” in church this morning because I knew all the words to “Praise to the Lord, The Almighty” by heart, and it includes the word “Ye”. The hymns sound strange in the acoustics of my bedroom, with just my voice. But the words connect me to the great cloud of witnesses who have come before me.

Then, if I have time, I read. My goal was to find things that would inspire me when I read them. I read the Book of Matthew first, a little because I had to start somewhere. I’ve probably read Matthew through 10 times? So I wasn’t expecting to find anything new, or surprising there. But that’s the great joy of a book like the Bible. There is so much to it, so much complexity, that you see different thing based on where you are in your own life. Different things stand proud and catch your notice. In this case, for me, it was the theme of being judged by the measure you judge others, and the phrase “I desire mercy, not sacrifice” which showed up several times. It is funny, reading the Bible, to know that there is so little to find that others have not already seen. I bet both of those have PhD theses, if not entire books written on them. But I’d never noticed before.

I’m working on my next book. I listened to “The Reason for God” on my commute, which was particularly fascinating when read alongside Steven Pinker’s “Enlightenment Now“. I tried Bonhoeffer, but despite his excellent quotability he was annoying instead of inspiring me. I’m reading Luke while I figure out what I want to do next.

I’m also mindful that books that have great spiritual resonance for me are not always actually Christian. There is no book more capable of evoking a spirit-response in me than Lois McMaster Bujold’s Curse of Chalion which is written about a religious Pantheon which is distinctly Not Christian. But yet, it makes me feel closer to the creator. I also have come to the conclusion that John Muir is a prophet to *me*, speaking to a very important part of my heart. I think poetry may come close to this soul-expansion I so deeply desire.

The last thing I’m doing is my one faith-fail-safe for my whole life. I feel closest to God when I am in nature. There is a meditative quality to an expansive hike which cracks open my hard shell and lets air and light and water in. It is as though altitude helps me get closer to heaven. The time I spent this summer and fall with hiking boots strapped to my feet was time I spent nurturing the soul-fire God has given me.

With time, prayer, song, poetry and nature – I have hope that embers of my joy in God will rekindle. There’s a heat to someone whose soul is well tended. I remember the soft warming glow of my grandparents, in their quiet devotion. I also know that there is a more blazing, inspiring fire that comes sometimes. I’ve rarely heard a story of someone who converted to Christianity without an encounter they have had with someone who seemed lit by an internal conflagration of joyful spirit. I wish to be such a beacon.

Invocation for Town Meeting

I was asked to do the invocation for our Town Meeting in Stoneham tonight. I found myself thinking a lot of those who had spoken words of meaning to this group in the nearly three hundred years we’ve been meeting like this.

On the 14th of December, 1803, Reverend Mr. Stevens preached a sermon on the book of Haggai to the assembled town, as they gathered to dedicate a new meeting house for the Stoneham. According to Deacon Silas Dean, the sermon was focused on the words, “I will fill this house with glory”.

As we come together today, we remember the legacy of hundreds of years of good governance, careful planning and thoughtful preparation that have given us a town filled with green spaces, beautiful buildings and strong institutions. We live in a town where our children and our elders are both carefully treated and dearly loved – where the happy sounds of the soccer fields float through the historic windows of the senior center.

Let us come together, in a sacred intention to build and sustain our community so that those who live in our town in another 200 years may look to us as examples of wise planning, good decisions and respectful communications.

Inspiring spirit, be with us in this time and place. Let our decisions be well-thought and wise. Let our speech with each other be patient and kind. Let our community thrive from our efforts. And let all who live within the bounds of our borders benefit from our good planning. Let us, like our ancestors, fill this house with the glory of good governance. Amen.

Home of the Pawtucket, Agawome & Namkeek

I live in the home of the Pawtucket tribe. Nanapashemit and Squaw Sachem lived together on the shores of the Mystic River, along my commute. The Agawome and Naamkeek once canoed on the fall bright waters of Spot Pond, when it was quiet. Doleful Pond was a field of Indian corn, cultivated by skilled and careful hands.

Silas Dean says, approvingly, “this was a great place for the destruction of the Indians by the early settlers.”

Today, we remember.

Who lived in your home, before it was “discovered”?

The waning of summer

This summer was a remarkable one. I can think of few periods in my life where I crammed as much in (mostly great, fun stuff) as I have done the last four or so months. I’m honestly a bit daunted by the attempt to even summarize it all. Let’s see.

Hiking
This summer I hiked. A lot. I did four four-thousand footers (Osceola, Osceola East, Eisenhower and Pierce). I hiked Chocorua. I hiked Monadnock. I hiked Welch-Dickey. I hiked small trails centered around Tamworth New Hampshire, like the Big Pines trail, Mt. Major, the Boulder Loop Trail and the Castle in the Clouds. I bought a new hiking backpack and new poles. I did several long, full days hiking morning to evening. I was a founding member of the “Stoneham Mountaineering and Libation Society” (it started as the Stoneham Hiking and Drinking club, but these things tend to evolve over time). And this might have been my favorite part of the summer. I loved being in the woods, strapping on my boots, and heading towards the sky.

Travels
We went camping three times this summer, as is our custom. Nearly two weeks of the summer was spent in tents. We also journeyed back to near our family’s (and democracy’s) foundations in our trip to Greece. It was so glorious – the history, the food, the cool clear waters of the Aegean. I also sent my sons on a rather ill-fortuned RV trip to Canada, cut short due to mechanical failures. Grey spent four weeks at Camp Wilmot, Thane spent two. I took a week to myself in New Hampshire (wherein I mostly hiked…). Adam went to Gencon. It felt a little like a French Farce, where someone was always entering one door as someone else left through another.

Home Improvements
I’ve been deeply remiss in the whole blogging as autobiography thing. I think you’ll understand when I tell you that the week before we left for Greece, we finally got a contractor to come in and replace the (awful) carpet in our hallway and stairway with hardwood. There was a lot of panicked last minute moving, and since then has been a lot of painting etc. This was the first step on a long journey to built in bookshelves!

Friends
I’m just now coming back from a weekend spent with friends. While we were gone a lot this summer, looking at my pictures I see us at the newly opened restaurants in town, at BBQs and rock band nights, whitewater river rafting, tubing the Saco, catching live music, celebrating birthdays, watching the (incredible!) Women’s World Cup or running into each other in the climbing gym.

My selfie form leaves much to be desired

Exercise
My abysmal time in the Camp Wilmot 5k notwithstanding, I may be in some of the best shape of my life. I didn’t run a great race on Saturday (although I ran the race!) in large part because I’d hike 13 miles over ~10 hours with several thousand feet of elevation change the day before. Then slept in a puppy pile of air mattresses in a cabin with a bunch of my friends. This might not be considered optimal race preparation. But I have run, climbed, hiked, and biked to such a degree that I’m feeling stronger and more capable. That’s an awesome feeling.

Ask yourself: are you in top physical condition?

Filling in the corners
And in between all these bigger things were other things… like going to work every day. I’m engaged in some of the most interesting, difficult work it’s ever been my privilege to undertake. Even returning to the home sphere, there was jam to make (I didn’t manage to find any plums this year, alas!), spending time with my beloved husband, going to the beach with the boys and catching the book signing for the latest Randall Monroe masterpiece.

I was once told that “Life is rich and full”. Life is so rich and so full, and I am so very grateful.

Sermon: Becoming a Matthew 25 congregation

I was asked to preach the sermon in my church, Burlington Presbyterian, this past week. Since I’m way behind on the blog posts, I figured I’d give you this writing instead!

Matthew 25:31-46

31 “When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne. 32 All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. 33 He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.

34 “Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. 35 For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, 36 I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’ 37 “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 38 When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39 When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’ 40 “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

41 “Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. 42 For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, 43 I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’ 44 “They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’ 45 “He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’ 46 “Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.”

Be better. Do better. Be healthier. Waste less. Save more money, time, calories, trees. Just take ten minutes a day for exercise, financial planning, meditation, rinsing your recycling, stretching, dental hygiene or vigorous exercise. Call your elected representatives, write a letter, watch the debate, be informed. Cook more at home, from locally-sourced, sustainable food sources that are healthy and tasty and your whole family will eat. All your kids really need from you is your time and attention. But don’t forget that you need to do your job too – show up on time, work hard, pursue career growth, put in the extra effort. Go the extra mile. And no matter what, make sure you get enough sleep.

I don’t know about you folks, but I’m absolutely exhausted at the end of the day – or sometimes even the beginning – by the list of things I should be doing. It often seems like there’s no aspect of my life where I don’t get constant messages on how I need to improve. It’s hard to know where to focus. Is flossing more important than composting? What if I’m trying to save money, but healthy foods are more expensive? What if being an informed voter makes it hard for me to sustain my mental heath?

When Trina asked me to do the sermon today, I knew I wanted to talk about the verses of the Bible that best describe what I believe God’s people should be doing in the world. Those of you who know me have heard this Matthew 25 passage before. It’s so clear and actionable: see a person suffering and help them. When we do that, we serve God in the purest way. I imagined a sermon where I would lay out Jesus commands here and inspire us all to answer the call of the Presbyterian Church to commit to being a Matthew 25 congregation. You know, to work just a little harder. And then I remembered that you are probably just about as tired as I am.

And this from the Jesus who said, “Come to me all you who labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest!”

I would still like for us to respond to our denominational calling to be a Matthew 25 church, but instead of asking you to do more I thought I’d take a moment to talk about what we already do. This group of faithful people you see around you has already dedicated their life, sweat and love to responding to Jesus calling, and here’s how.

I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat.
This might be the most central mission of the Burlington Presbyterian Church, from our smallest to largest moments. At coffee hour, so many Sundays, you will find food prepared for you by loving hands. Next week, we’re looking for volunteers to feed our Presbytery visitors. They love coming here because they know they’ll eat well. All of us know that on Mondays, Farmer Dave uses our playground as a distribution point for the fresh, healthy, sustainable produce he grows. You probably also know that the extras from the farm share go to the Burlington Food Pantry. But did you know that the refrigerators the food pantry uses to store that food were donated by BPC for just that purpose? Not only that, but among our members are those who have dedicated their working and volunteering lives to that pantry, to ensure that our neighbors are not only not hungry, but fed with nourishing food.

When we together stand before God, he will recognize our cooking.

I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink.
In our world of seemingly endless, nearly free, perfectly safe tap water, this almost feels like an anachronism. But so much of the world doesn’t get to turn on a tap in the kitchen and get as much clean water as they want. You may recall a year or two ago, our Sunday School classes devoted their year to raising funds for safe and sturdy water jugs for folks who have to walk to get their water for cleaning, cooking and drinking.

We also serve the thirsty in another way. Did you know that our church is home to an Alcoholic Anonymous group? In this case, we welcome those who are thirsty for something that is harming them, and provide them instead with a chance to find living water.

When we see the cup in Jesus hand, it will hold water we have given him.

I was a stranger, and you invited me in.
Almost two years ago, I joined some of our fellow church members at a dinner in Lowell. This was a refugee welcome dinner. We brought food (always!) and then broke bread with people who were coming from terrifying situations around the world. I met a man from my country of birth, Congo, who told of the murder of his family and his panicked flight from that war-torn country, followed by long months alone in a packed and arid refugee camp before coming to this cold, strange place. I’ve kept in touch with Louis since then, and helped him in small ways. We have been growing our relationship with those groups who welcome strangers like him to this, our strange land. We are as much moved and changed by this hospitality as are the people we meet.

When we meet Jesus, we will recognize him because we welcomed him into our homes.

I was naked, and you clothed me.
I checked the bulletin this morning to see if we had started putting in the Wish Tree notifications. Every year, pajamas and underwear make their way to kids through our loving generosity.

When Jesus judges us, he will be wearing socks we have given him.

I was sick, and you looked after me.
Have you ever gotten a casserole or frozen meal when you had surgery, or were laid up? Chances are good if you’ve been here any length of time and let the deacons know you weren’t doing well, you have. I once contemplated whether I could convince the Deniers that my cold was serious enough to merit some of their beef barley soup (food again!). We have also done things like brought communion to folks who were unable to leave their homes, spent time in hospitals waiting and watching, and helped with household chores that were hard on aching joints. Many of these things are done very quietly, with great dignity. We have held blood drives, and opened our veins. Members of this church have even, on a few remarkable occasions, given of their very bodies in organ donation.

Jesus will recognize us from his sickbed.

I was in prison, and you came to visit me.
This is the hardest one for me. It is so in keeping with God’s call that just when you’re feeling good about what you’ve already done, there is one more thing that you still need to do. I have thought a lot about this – about the rules of American prisons that make it almost impossible for people to visit, about the well known dangers and risks of working with incarcerated felons, about how foreign and scary and strange this work is. I’ve also thought about how Jesus does not distinguish that these are innocent, safe people we should visit. I have some ideas on things we might do. But I’ll throw this one back to you. What do we already do? What can we do?

I hope that by the time we stand before our God, we will have served him here, too.

I believe we are, already, a church following Jesus’ calling in Matthew 25. I’m quite sure that I have missed many of our ministries that serve these purposes, and even more that don’t fit comfortably in the bounds of these commissions. I am proud and joyful to be a part of that with you. I would also invite you to go to the link in the resources section at the bottom of the bulletin, and read through what our greater church is thinking about.

In the deepest sense, however, I wanted to tell you that you are beloved, faithful, hardworking servants of God. I know that you make me proud, and I suspect you make him proud too. As the words of our first hymn say, “Well done, well done.”

Panos

Back in the ’80s, when women had perms and air travel was just adjusting to being unregulated, Adam’s family came to Greece for the first time. Adam’s father worked for Saudi Aramco, and the four of them lived in the American compound in Dhahran. Greece is a very convenient hop from Saudi, so their first trip became an annual journey.

I’m not sure why they picked Aegina. It’s not a fashionable island, although it had a moment in the sun then, still discernable by the thirty year old abandoned buildings. It’s pretty traditional, and many of the people sunning themselves on the beach are Greeks escaping Athens for a day. I’ve heard few American accents here.

Thirty years ago, Adam’s family left the hotel to find breakfast, and ended up at the Cafe Marina, or as we simply call it, Panos’s. For the decade the family spent a week every summer here, the cafe was home base. They’d break fast here in the morning, reading through breakfast. They’d drink at chat at the bar until late at night. Adam would bring his book and read, then fall asleep.

Twenty years ago, Adam brought me here on our honeymoon and introduced his young bride to Panos and his wife Gelen. I read all of Ivanhoe sitting right here, and developed a fondness for the English breakfast.

We talked a lot before we came about whether Panos would still be here. A lot can change in twenty years. The economy here has struggled greatly. The refugee crisis and fiscal austerity have punished the county. Panos was not a young man. My father in law, Michael, who had shared many a beer at Panos’s bar, died ten years ago. We could learn little from internet stalking. But I tried not to get my hopes up when we arrived for breakfast yesterday.

But as we walked up, there they both were – Panos and Gelen. After a few moments, they remembered Adam (Eleni was particularly amused at how Adamiki used to fall asleep here). They think Grey looks like a little Adam.

I ordered the English breakfast. The boys all dove deep into their books (they’re working their way through the collected works of T. Kingfisher on my Kindles), and for another generation, we connect. It is a great joy.

Like that star of the waning summer

We found our way through the Port of Pireus across a short, quiet stretch of water to the island of Aegina. After a perilous taxi ride (no roller coaster has ever terrified me that thoroughly), we arrived in a quiet, pine-shaded compound, with limestone grottos and placid Mediterranean blue waters.After a moment of deep appreciation for the view, we sunscreened up and climbed in. The water was intoxicating in our near private bay, warm and clear and calm.A ten minute walk brings us to the tiny town of Aegina Marina, which is sadly reduced from the days of Adam’s youth, and where ambitious and long abandoned buildings stand as archaeological ruins from the ’80s.As the daylight waned, I spotted a path up the pine slope along our grotto. I resolved to see where it led. The answer was boring (a hotel), but there was this enchanting rock, almost made got by the sun, where I sat for an hour to watch the sun fall beyond the bay and behind the mountains.In the gloaming, I returned to fetch my youngest son, and we watched the light disappear in the West to be to replaced by the great swath of stars. The Milky Way cut a path from Athens towards Africa. Jupiter was bright at our feet, with Scorpio perilous under the tread of that wanderer. It was gorgeous, and glorious and I spent an hour on that warm rock with a cool breeze and the sound of gentle surf below. There are precious moments in life, and that was one.Tomorrow, more swimming. We plan on spending the entire day at the beach. But today? Was perfect.

This is Hellas

Nineteen years ago, Adam and I took our first trip together, to Greece. It was a gift from his parents, this trip to a place he’d grown up visiting every year for vacation. It was also our honeymoon. We were married so long ago, those still took place immediately following the wedding.

I am sure that other people have much better ways of planning their vacations. I came up with a list of three vacation spots, and started fleshing out the options. I ran out of time when I’d only finished the first option. Thus, a return to Greece!

If I’d really been thinking, I would have waited until next year, a pleasing symmetry with our 20th anniversary. But I wasn’t, so the 19th anniversary it is.

We’ve been in Athens for just over a day, following marathon travel. So far we got up at the crack of dawn to see the Parthenon before the crowds woke. We’ve met stray cats, tread polished stones where citizens with voting rights have walked since the concept first originated, eaten in cafes, tracked down favorite spots from (gulp) last century, read books, bargained in the Plaka and gotten a ride from someone’s cousin who happened to grow up in Toronto and study linguistics. So far Athens is very on brand.

Tomorrow we take a ferry to the island of Aegina, to the port of Aegina Marina. We’ll dive off the rocks, like they did thirty years ago. I’m hopeful we’ll see some good stars, play some games, read some books and sit in Panos’ Cafe.