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October 28, 2005
OXI
When I was younger I never gave October 28th much thought. I would see my parents light candles in the home, and make special dishes of food over that weekend. However, for an ordinary American child I had no idea the importance that day held for my destiny:
The "Oxi Day" holiday is celebrated each year in Greece on the 28th of October. It is on this very date when back in 1941, when Greece's then Prime Minister Ioannis Metaxas said "OXI!" (NO!) to then Italian dictator Benito Mussolini's request to allow Italian troops to enter Greece during WWII. Despite the firm NO from Greece. Italy did attack and attempt to invade Greece but were subsequently driven back into Albania by the Greeks.
The reason for the attack? In 1940 when most of Europe was in the hands of Adolf Hitler. Mussolini decided to take over Greece anticipating an easy victory based on his armies superior numbers and mechanized force. He decided to attack Greece via Albania. The Greeks stood up to this attack and said OXI ('No, you shall not pass - they even erected the letters on a hillside facing Italy to make there point) and fought the invasion fiercely. Mussolini's divisions were soon back in Albania and for six months were fighting to maintain a hold on the seacoast, desperately calling to their Nazi friends for help.
When Germany joined the war against Greece with the most powerful army in Europe. The Greeks continued to fight both of these great empires, although reason must have told them that their position was hopeless. Alongside their British comrades, the Greeks continued to resist stubbornly on the island of Crete. Greece eventually fell to the Germans, however the war cost Hitler thousands of his finest troops as well as delaying his attack against Russia by many months. German troops eventually ran into the dreadful Russian winter and the Russians imposed such appalling losses that it contributed to the ultimate defeat of Germany.
Even when Greece fell, the resistance remained strong. It was said "When the Germans conquered Greece, they had to station half a million soldiers there because the war continued. It was guerrilla war fighting from the mountains, attacking their convoys, and the resistance (antistasi) was stabbing them in the dark of the night in the city streets."
Ordinary Greeks suffered under Hitler's occupation, over half a million people died of starvation including my paternal grandparents, Theodoros and Anna, and a Paternal Aunt, Anna. My father ended up being raised in an orphanage for the rest of his life due to these actions. The Germans even withheld food from the Greek people and actually destroyed any extra rations rather than risk it falling into the hands of a Greek.
Eventually the war in Greece ended and on a glorious fall day and the blue and white Greek flag was flapping once more on the holy rock of the Acropolis. Greece was free at last!. This date was 15th October 1944. So "Oxi Day" marks Greece's entry into the war and will be celebrated by the old and the young - there are parades and festivals in Greece and it's a national holiday. It's very important that younger generations (my own generation included) never forget the bravery of the older generations.
I'm 31 years old and I myself find it difficult to imagine men younger than me sacrificing their lives for their country. Every October 28th, Greek schools march through the streets behind the flag paying tribute to the heroes. The kid with the highest grades gets the honor of carrying the flag and leading their fellow classmates on their march. "Oxi Day" for me is personal because it marks the moment when my family's destiny changed. Who knows what my life may have been like in other circumstances. But my culture, my race, my ethnicity did survive and prosper, and we are still here today.
So thank you...thank you to my grandparents, and my Aunt Anna that I never met. To my Uncle Niko, my namesake, who fought in the resistance and died trying to save his country. Thank you to the countless Greeks who suffered in concentration camps because they were not Aryan enough for Hitler. For all the people who still remember the struggle our ancestors made for us to be able to live the lives we have today.
October 27, 2005
The Start of Something New
I decided to take the day off today and work from home. I had all the intentions of staying home and doing work, even entering my treatment notes into the online system and then the Queen B calls me on the phone (it was the Imperial Death March from Star Wars...so I knew it was her) and tells me to never mind and just take a sick day.
*blink*
I didn't want a sick day, I wanted to work from home and get some work done, but apparently that isn't conducive to her schedule. Does she want me to work during my sick leave? Does she want me to be gracious and devote myself to slaving for the man when I should be laying in bed and watching Jerry Springer? So my motivation for the day has stopped - sigh.
It's been interesting not having to do therapy with the sex offenders anymore during the week. I just got my final paycheck this week from the agency. In a way I am thankful for the time they have given me and the experiences I have learned but I am also excited to get my life back. I might just take one of the puppy dogs for a walk this afternoon.
More then anything my mind is full - trying to realize what is and is not important in my life, my relationships, my purpose. I got an e-mail from Rebecca last night that shook me to my core a bit. It is amazing how certain people come in and out of our lives for various reasons and how when we try and hang onto relationships that have no meaning we feel empty, like a shell...trying to fill ourselves with that life-giving manna only to find out that the person you considered to be so close, so trusted really doesn't want to help you out. I'm ready for the changes in my life, I'm ready for a move, I'm ready to do something different and new and take a chance on finding the things that make me happy and surrounding me with people that nourish and support me for who I am - not what I was.
The NaNoWriMo contest starts next Tuesday and I think I have a basic outline of what I am going to write about - we'll see how it goes. Perhaps this is my chance to jumpstart my desire for something different.
Posted by Nikolas at 12:09 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBackOctober 17, 2005
The End of an Era
I got an e-mail a few days ago that I'm still trying to process.
When I moved to Colorado in 1994, I moved here with a duffle bag, four boxes, $800 in my pocket and only one friend who was letting me crash on her couch for two weeks - Rebecca. R and I have been friends for almost 16 years - meeting back in High School and then she eventually moved to Colorado during my junior year. We stayed in contact and our friendship survived those tenuous years until I was finally able to move to Colorado. R was always a strong an independent woman - beginning young in her childhood when she was charged with raising her younger sisters due to her mom's work schedule and life. She learned to grow up quickly and became an adult long before any of us did. It was she we went to for guidance. It was she we went to for adventure. It was she we went to for life, love and friendship.
I have always seen her as a kindred spirit to Sarah Jessica Parker's portrayal of Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City (long before it was popular.) She is strong, independent and noble. She dresses well and is the conscious for her friends. She loves living in the city and is truly and urban girl at heart. Over the last few years R and I have grown apart. As I move closer and close to leaving Canada I think subconsciously I pull away from her too - possibly to ease the pain. She had a baby boy a few years ago, and is a fantastic mother. She lives in central Denver - still in the thick of it, still living life on her terms.
Then I received an e-mail a few days ago from her informing her mailing list that she, baby and baby's daddy have bought a house in the suburbs and are moving away. I sat there for a moment dumbstruck and slacked-jawed. It was truly the end of an era, the end of what I defined as my young adulthood. R's life had always been an inspiration for me - a way for me to hang onto the versions of what life should be like, or would be like, or could be like. In a way, her move cemented the fact that leaving Colorado is the right thing to do.
It's time for me to end my era too.
Posted by Nikolas at 12:06 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBackOctober 14, 2005
They tell me to be patient
Today has been one of those days that does not seem to go right from the moment you wake up to the moment your head hits the pillow at night. There has been one constant thread running through my head throughout the day though...how much I want to get out of here. Out of this job, out of this house, out of this city, this state, this country. I am ready to leave now - cut all the strings that attach me to the marionettes of my life and be free to go and do as I please.
I had a Tarot Card a few weeks back and the message from the Universe was to be patient. Things are in order, the paperwork is in good shape - just be patient and when the time is right everything will fall into place. I am even mocked by my refrigerator as I pass it everyday and see the Canada magnet with a fortune cookie fortune stuck above it that states "Your dream will come true when you least expect it..." In the meantime I need to work on my job, my hopes and desires, and clearing out the toxins of my mother. I've been doing that and making headway, heeding the cards advice, learning my lesson to be patient.
Damn it's hard.
Posted by Nikolas at 06:51 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBackOctober 12, 2005
Au revoir, adieu Montreal
I don't want to leave - not only Montreal, but this country. There's something in the air - there is a magnet pulling me deep into the soil of this land. I have been trying very hard not to be overly optimistic or 'blue sky' when it comes to our pending move - I figure if you aim low and don't have huge expectations, it will be easier if good things don't always happen right away.
As one of my good friends constantly reminds me: "We do have guns here in Canada" ;-) , it's true that this isn't paradise, no where is, but when the good outweighs the bad, kindness is stronger than hostility and authenticity is more noble than false pretenses then it's close to paradise to me.
Montreal has been merveilleux and exciter. I've made friends, I've seen a city alive in history, sensuality and honor. I look forward to the day I return.
Merci beaucoup!
Posted by Mason at 09:51 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBackOctober 10, 2005
Happy (Canadian) Thanksgiving
Happy Thanksgiving to all my friends North of the border. Hopefully next year we'll be eating turkey together (that and I make a mean Pumpkin Cheesecake!)
,October 08, 2005
Initial Thoughts on Montreal
I need greasy food.
I need a shower.
It needs to stop raining. (Oooh, just as I type this the sun just came out!)
NOTE: I was out partying until 430am Friday night!)
Some quick observations before I jump into the shower:
From the very cool guy William from Montreal I met at The Sky (I completely didn't notice it's upstairs or the strip club!) to the cab drivers to the others I've run into, it's amazing the difference in attitudes here in Canada. Take for instance the cab driver last night. He was originally from somewhere in the Middle East and I completely expected that gruff, hard-nosed attitude from him when I got in the cab and mentioned going to a gay bar, I did the initial "French" thing (Bon jour, si vouz pla) and he was instantly cordial and talkative. Then when I mentioned that my husband Nick and I are immigrating here it was like a met a long-lost friend. He lived in Toronto for a few years first, but now makes Montreal his home and he practically offered to have Nick and I move into his home if we came to Montreal instead of Toronto when the paperwork finally goes through. I mentioned that I have been leary of Montreal because I don't speak French and he completely shot that down saying it's not that critical anymore. I now see why my Toronto friend always says he'd move here in a heartbeat.
I'm sure much of it was Montreal-pride, but in reality it's about a genuine, honest love of humanity and a country that embraces its people. Not the false "love it or leave" it psudo-patriotism of the US, but heartfelt and authentic. Everytime I come to Canada it gives me such a shot of energy and confidence about our pending move. It confirms for me that we're not leaving one country for another, we're opening another chapter in our lives. All I can compare it to would be like those moments in your life when you think everything is done or there's nothing else and something happens that opens up a while new opportunity for you. All I can think about is this scenario: you get up in the morning, pour a bowl of cereal, go to the frig and realize that there is just a thimble of milk left. You get that sinking, disappointed feeling. Just as you come to grips that you're not getting your breakfast, you move something and find another carton of milk.
Ok, that was a pretty dumb analogy, but I think you get my point. I wait with anticipation the exciting new world that is going to be out there for us - a world of tolerance, acceptance and diversity - not because it's "politically correct," but because it's human and authentic.
Ok, it's getting sappy in here, it's just my flow of feelings after my first (HALF-DAY mind you,) in Montreal. I am coughing up lung cookies, I just got a whiff of myself and it's already 12:30pm - it's time to explore again!
Posted by Mason at 03:31 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBackMason in Montreal
It's Mason again - I figure it's time for more updates, especially since I will be in Montreal from October 7-12 for the Black and Blue Ball. I've been updating my personal Live Journal website, but wanted to share some of the more Canadian-focused thoughts and feelings here. I'll put them in another entry.
If you happen to be in Montreal reading this, if you want to meet for a drink or coffee, ,it would be great to meet locals. I am here solo - Nick stayed home (since we will be doing his own personal vacation in a few weeks.) We've been thinking about taking a few separate vacations so we could each relax and enjoy a holiday on our own - this is my first one in ages.
Montreal (and or course, Canada) is awesome - more to come!
Posted by Mason at 03:24 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBackOctober 06, 2005
Flashback
I was reading some blogs of some bloggers I read from Greece and it got me thinking of my ethnic homeland if you will....which got me thinking of my grandfather...which brought me back to a post I did in my personal journal over a year ago. Here it is unfiltered and raw - just for you Papou...I miss you:
I'm tired, sad and sore. I took the day off of work today to try and recuperate. Below is my Greece Journal and really consider it as a labor of love for my grandfather - read it if you wish...it's me raw, unedited and exposed. I'll try to post some pictures of the village and stuff later in the week.
Again, thank you for the thoughts, prayers and well-wishes...they definitely helped to keep me sane.
***Big Hugs to you all***
Greece Journal
I was lucky and was able to get an aisle seat and no one ended up sitting next to me. Maybe I’ll be able to get some sleep now. I hardly slept last night with all the tossing and turning I was doing…Mason seemed to get a few snores in. I think it was sometime around 4am when I finally dozed off only to have the alarm wake me up two hours later. Had to pack, make some calls, email school and my work to tie up loose ends. Had to do the bills so I know how much money I had to spend while I’m there. Our tax return is gone because of the trip…we had planned on using the money to landscape the backyard, but now it looks like that will have to be put off till next year’s. Mason is so good to me…he didn’t even flinch when I asked him. He is so good to me.
I have no idea what to expect when I go there…he might be dead already. I’m going to call my mother as soon as I land at JFK to see if she got in OK and what his prognosis is. It’s a three plus hours to New York City and then I have a three hour layover till we take off for Athens at 5:30pm…nine hours later at 10:00am tomorrow I land there and then have to wait five hours for the flight to the island – luckily that flight is only an hour long.
Jesus I’m going to need a shower.
I had a pretty decent conversation with Panagoti last night. I think quite honestly he is the only person right now that can truly understand the whole cultural shit that is associated with this trip. He knows the pain of growing up Greek and gay – I have to go. It’s almost a birthright…sigh
I hope people read these long ass entries when I get back. I think the only thing that is going to let me keep my sanity is knowing that my friends (you guys) will be there when I get back.
Time for some shut eye
6:35 EDT (Somewhere off the coast of New England)
I lucked out again and got an exit row aisle to myself. It’s going to make for a nice flight – the one down side is that right now it’s 1:35 in the morning in Greece. I need to get used to the time change and sleep. The phone call went pretty OK with my mother – she kept it together long enough with me. We’ll see what happens once I get there.
I finally got a hold of my mother and was able to talk to her. Apparently, Papou is getting worse – she has considered calling the doctor and getting a catheter inserted for him. She states that she has taken to sleeping in the dining room downstairs, next to my grandfather’s bedroom, so that she can hear him if he needs anything. Last night he was calling out for my dead grandmother and then sounded delusional telling my mom that he had to get up and milk the goats over by the pretty birds. I have no idea what’s going to happen at this point. My Mom says she has no food in the house and that she has been living off of the kindness of the village – not that’s hard to do in a village of 5000 people where everyone knows everyone else’s business. I think if I can successfully rent-a-car at the airport I’m going to try and go grocery shopping in the capital city – they might actually have a grocery store. I’m tired and smelly, and icky. I need a shower and a nice night’s sleep.
One interesting thing at the airport has been the arrival of all the Olympic teams so that they can practice in the city that’s going to host the games. I saw the Australian Kayaking team, the Norwegian swim team, and Brazil’s female soccer team. It’s neat and awe-inspiring. OK….only 3 hours till my plane boards….yeah. Time for sleep.
9:04pm GDT (on the island of Lesbos)
Have I ever told you guys that story? My dad is from Athens, and my mother hails from the island of Lesbos. So that means I’m half-Athenian and half-Lesbian…haha! The flight was interesting – most of it was chartered by the Lesbian (haha again) Men’s Soccer Team. Nothing like a bunch of athletic Greek men being all affectionate with one another like Europeans do. I got a rental car – a small… small… did I say small? Yes, a small-ass hatchback that made me feel like a sardine. I got lost in the capital city and finally found my way to the village. I had forgotten how “small” it is in every sense of the word. The weird part was flying in and landing – when I walked out on to the tarmac (it’s a one lane runway…planes have to do a U-turn to go back to the terminal) I felt like I belonged there. As if something were connected in my being to this island. Maybe it has something about the fact that generations of my family grew up on this one island. It is odd to be driving down a beautiful coastline with palm trees to such a sad event.
When I finally got in to the village and my grandfather’s house I was greeted by several aunts, uncles, cousins, village folk and was quickly spat on to ward the devil away. Then I saw my Papou Yorgo…I so wish he would just pass away. He looks so miserable and in pain. He cried when he saw me but said little else.
Dinner was interesting as I had to play catch up with all the village folks and explain to them why I wasn’t yet married and didn’t have kids. Never did get to the supermarket so all there was pan-fried fish from Kalloni Bay or bread and Greek cheeses…I opted for the later….g’nite.
I was falling asleep typing the entry last night. I had never slept so soundly in my life…I was so tired. However, at 2am I have the faint recollection of Bill calling me to ask me how I was doing – I think he forgot the time difference. The cell phone works in Europe for $1.25/min – I’ve never even had good phone sex for that much!
This morning I was awoken by the sound of roosters crowing and my mother yelling at my grandfather to make sure he was still alive. I made my way downstairs and we talked for a bit. My mother is older than I remember her – it’s scary to realize that your parents are tuning into old people. She only tried to scold me 7 times which is an improvement since yesterday. I told her that I flew half-way around the world for her and Papou…not to be yelled at, and that seemed to help things. I spoke to Mason this morning to so that also made me feel better.
I look at the village and I am astounded how things have not changed, yet are so different. I sit here on the terrace typing on a laptop made in the 21st Century in a home built in the 17th century, which has survived two world wars, a civil war and an independence war, earthquakes and floods…yet still does not have indoor plumbing. There is now a BMW/Porsche/Mercedes dealership in Kalloni (the closest “city” to the village) and our village now has a Mayor – so I guess we now qualify as a town.
As people like my Papou die their old homes are being torn down by their children and grandchildren so that they can build new modern summer homes on this beautiful island. It’s sad and telling in a way. I miss the memories of my youth here – when the chickens freely roamed the interior yard, there was a Donkey in the stall next to the outhouse and my grandfather would slaughter a goat because of our arrival. I see him now a shell of the man that is bound to his bed and talked to like a three year old. He is very smart – he used to tell me that in school they would make him sit out in the hall during math tests because they were too simple for him. In another place or time he could have been an Einstein – instead he herded goats and harvested olives for a living. One of my earliest memories is when I was six and he took me down to his nearest Xorafi. I got to ride the donkey the whole way and it was a treat. When we got down there I helped him lift water out of a well that he had dug himself and we water the vegetables and then he showed me how to milk the goats. I always got it wrong. We’d come home and give the milk to my Yiayia and she would filter it out and make fresh cheeses from it. I love my grandfather, I love what he taught me – it saddens me to see a great man reduced to a bed and being fed apple juice by a spoon.
We called the priest today and he came down and gave him communion since we weren’t sure how much longer he will have. Amelia, the neighbor across from us (who is really the Greek version of Mrs. Kravitz) says that she feels he is on death’s door. Next to my grandmother she was one of the most psychic/folk healers in the village. I’m surrounded my old superstition and cloaks of traditions. Village women spitting on me so I don’t get “To Matiasma”, old men flipping their komboloi, young boys playing in the street…sometimes I wonder how this place, this culture existed as I go about my business in Denver.
Oh by the way…I’ve already been offered a wife…sigh.
9:44pm GDT
I saw my grandfather naked tonight – it was quite unnerving. His Bulgarian home nurse, Georgina, came over with her daughter to help change him and I happened to be in the room – not hard in a small house. His body is so old and wrinkly and it looks like he’s in pain. He has nasty sores and bruises on him and his skin continues to just flake off. Sometimes I’m afraid to hold his hand too tightly for fear that his skin might slip off. I felt so embarrassed for him – open and naked to the whole world and surrounded by two strange women, his daughter and grandson – at times I felt as though he was looking at me and pleading for them to go away – Greek machismo is still very well alive in him.
I heard from the entire gossipy village women about all the signs of death today and there as follows:
• If a cat is at your doorstep in the morning it is a sure sign that death will visit you soon. (there are cats crawling all over the freaking village – they’re wild and feral here!)
• If a person’s nails turn black it is a sure sign of upcoming death.
• If a person only has one eye closed they will soon face the grim reaper.
• If an apple rolls of a table it is a sign of death knocking.
• I think perhaps the oddest thing was the fact that Papou keeps staring off into a corner of his room and chanting “Maria” (my grandmother’s name) I can’t help but think that she is here with him.
I can’t sleep. Between the damn roosters and all the other birds cooing and chirping it’s like a freaking orchestra outside my window…that and I’m anxious. Actually, Lesbos is well known for its birds…go figure. Three Britons were arrested last year for bird watching too close to a military base. The military is a scary thing on this island. Given the fact that we are a stone’s throw away from Turkey, tensions are a little high and the military bans all binoculars and cameras within a certain radius of the army bases which are strewn around the island. I guess the bird watchers were a little too close.
I can’t sleep. I just checked on him – he’s still alive…barely. Small shallow breaths – Oh yeah, that’s the other sign the village gossips say…sigh.
I can’t sleep. Another phone call last night from Shannon at 2:00am, she actually didn’t know I had left and I let it go to voicemail. I’m turning it off at night now
I can’t sleep. I found out from my mother last night that my Grandmother was born on June 28, 1912 – which makes her a Cancer too. No wonder we got along so well, and her and my mother grated each other. Kind of like me and my mother now. I was also told from many people that I have my Grandfather’s πείσμα/pizma (contumacy, hardheadedness, obstinacy, orneriness, pet, refractoriness, spitefullness, stubborness, stubbornness, tenacity, willfulness).. It’s amazing that no matter how far you try to run from your genetics they always meet up with you in the end.
I can’t sleep.
11:45am GDT
I can’t stand this place much longer – it’s like the third fucking world, not an EU member country. There is no hospital in the village or in the nearby ‘city” all they have are traveling doctors – some of which are scam artists. Some guy came by a few days ago and put a catheter in my grandfather and gave my mom some creams for him and charged her $50. The creams were for athlete’s foot (which my Grandfather does not have) and he isn’t even trained to insert a catheter. On top of it the Pharmacist (which is on the same level of a Doctor) came by last night to give him a cortisone shot, but the dude who put the catheter in stole them to sell it on the black market. Fucking Greeks!
Now this morning I shuffle my way down to the outhouse/shower to take a shower and my Mom yells at me because she has to “light a fire” first (no I am NOT shitting you) so it can warm the water up in order for me to take a shower. Oye.
Oye!
2:30pm GDT
I knew it was only a matter of time before my mom and I got into it. Don’t ask me how the topic of children and marriage came up – it’s like hello and goodbye out here. I started getting lectured at about how I’m going to burn in hell and get missed out by the rapture. I travel half way around the world at my expense so I can get preached at?? Shit I could have done that on the 16th St Mall at home.
Apparently my Aunt Yanoula in Athens has a lovely only child lady friend of hers that is quite ready to marry an American man. Sorry, Mason…looks like I’m getting hitched.
And wouldn’t you know it…she’s a Greek Virgin :-)
9:00pm GDT
I hate her, I hate this village and I hate my life. We spent the better part of an afternoon hashing it out with one another. It seems as though my mother and I are having one constant argument and we end up continuing it every time we see each other in person. It all revolves around the same subject – me being gay and to a lesser degree me being too American and not enough “old world.” We talked about death and POA’s and stuff and I had mentioned that Mason and I got all that paperwork drawn up – she hit the roof because I hadn’t gotten her permission before doing so. She told me she didn’t want to hear about Mason ever again and I told her to fuck off and flipped her the finger. My mother and I then went at it full throttle with the whole village hearing us in broken Greeklish. How these people don’t know I’m gay and was kicked out by these fun-loving country folks I have no idea. You’d think they were able to piece the story together now.
Socialized medicine sucks! Apparently, the nearest hospital in the Capital city will only take life-threatening cases. If you do go there you will not have a nurse and you are required to feed and clothe your patient. They particularly despise old people because they are not an emergency. The only Nursing home nearby is at a tourist destination and they only take ambulatory people. My incontinent grandfather cannot be let in because he requires too much care. We could get him off this godforsaken island and bring him to Athens, but it would cost a shitload of money to transport and house him.
The piece de resistance today was the fact that the Bulgarian lady came by to change my grandfather and told us her money was due. My mom informed her that she wasn’t due for payment until May 1st, but Ms. Bulgarian wanted it right away because her rent is due. Next thing you know she pulls a whole “oh my back hurts” and can’t come this afternoon so she sends her deaf and mute sister to change Papou. Her daughter tells us that her Mom has gotten a new job outside the village and will no longer be able to change my grandfather, but her deaf mute Bulgarian sister can. Oh and they still expect to get paid even though they no longer need to come as often. Everybody in this village is out for a freaking buck – fucking Greeks, fucking Bulgarians! I ended up changing my grandfather, wiping up his shit and dressing his sores, and my Mom has the nerve to pick a fight with me.
I could really use some tequila right now.
Papou made it through the night. At this point you almost wish that he didn’t. I had a conversation with Mason this AM (his PM) to update him on the latest. Sigh. This morning has been productive so far, the fruit truck drove by this morning (yes the village is so small they have to have roaming grocery stores), followed by the fish truck and then the clothing truck (or the K-Mart man as I like to call him) - they call out on a loud-speaker so the whole world can hear you. I got some apples and oranges and my Mom picked up some sardines for lunch…ick.
The Bulgarian women came back this morning and were useless as usual, I keep telling Mom that we need to make other arrangements but unfortunately there is not very many options on this godforsaken island. My mom said that in order to move him to a nursing home in Athens that would take him we would have to sell the house and Xorafia to afford it. Xorafia is a Greek term that I have never been able to fully translate – it’s a piece for farmland, but not in the traditional sense of farm land. It is a little plot of land with many olive/figs/almond groves/orchards on it, usually a well, a few goats and a garden. My grandfather has 5-6 strewn around the entire island and in his heyday would harvest all the Olives, Figs and Almonds. He would brig it all to the processing center in the Capital City and sells it. So at some point if you ever ate Greek olives, a fig Newton or a Hershey’s with Almonds…there was a good shot my Papou was involved in it if they bought them from Greece. Of course he always kept enough of a portion for oil, and food for the year. Now when he dies we have to consider selling the land. Olive farming is not what it used to be…much like in the US big corporations are coming in and buying the plots of land for super acres. My mom has agreed to keep one piece of land that s beautiful and right by the Bay…overlooking the “city” of Kalloni. One day I can see a hotel opening nearby since Lesbos is becoming a bigger tourist spot. On one other track of land the military once claimed eminent domain and split it in half to build a road. They found ancient Greek artifacts thousands of years old buried there. Sigh…
My Mom told me the stories of my ancestors this morning. How my grandfather is the oldest of 12…he being born in 1917. His mother lost 4 of her children to accidents that were common in those days. One child awoke during their daytime nap and wandered over to the fireplace and ended up falling in burning himself alive. The mother was outside working and found him later burned to a crisp. The two twin boys that were born after my grandfather died 6 months after their birth because of influenza, and one girl was killed in a horrible stampede. Leaving the remaining 8 – four which were lost to WWI and WWII. My grandfather saw all of his siblings’ die, all of his in-laws die, his wife die he is the only one left. He laughed today – smiled at me. Many say that this is a sign of death – the calm before the storm. He has a smile that would light up the room. When I was a child he used to play “catch your nose” with me. He would bring me Coca-Cola’s from the village center (still in glass bottles) so I wouldn’t miss America too much. I am his only grandchild and he spoiled me rotten. I fed him today and told him I loved him…he knew. I am really going to miss him when he dies. Many people would not understand why I hold such a relationship with a man I have only seen so rarely, but when I did see him he filled my life with happiness and joy. He made me feel lucky to have a grandfather that was unlike the American versions. How many Papous’ take you to a Xorafi on the back of a Donkey? How many bring you Coca-Cola and fresh-grown watermelon n a hot summer day? He was so good to me…today he has been smiling a lot and saying he’s going to die. Sigh.
I’m being summoned for Greek coffee so that Amelia can tell me the future.
3:37pm GDT
I’m beginning to pick up the small accent of the village…if I were in the US it would sound an awful lot like some one from rural Appalachia or the south. Village islanders are seen as kind of back country folks out here. It’s scary because I woke up this morning thinking in Greek. I haven’t done that in a long time…sigh
My father is now coming Saturday…another drive to the Capital City to pick him up and bring him here. Then I leave first thing on Sunday. I know he is going to die…it’s just a matter of when. At least my dad will be here to help out…I think the Bulgarian women have abandoned us and we’ve become nurse and home care providers.
Off for a siesta.
5:46pm GDT
I cried for the first time today since I got here for my grandfather. He has been unusually talkative and expressive the past day or so…sending shivers down my spine. I fed him some yogurt and gave him some water in addition to talking with him for lunch today. I’ve noticed he has gotten really fuzzy when it came to his beard and mustache so I gave him a trim. Something that really only a man can do for another man. He hasn’t seen me with my goatee before and I think when he first saw me on Monday he was surprised to see how much older I had gotten. So I shaved him, as best if could. The sores on his neck have made there way up to his chin, so I had to avoid that area, but I got most everything else including trimming his mustache. He smiled and then I cried. I remember all the things that he did for me as a child and they all rushed back to me I couldn’t help it and I couldn’t hold it in. I love him and I really don’t want him to die. It makes you come to terms with your own mortality.
I told him he now looked like an American teenager with a little bit of a goat – he laughed…so did I.
There was a moment this evening that we thought we would lose him. He did one of those gasping breaths and then rolled his eyes in the back of his head. I’ve never seen anyone die before so I don’t know what to expect. My Mom was so freaked out she called Sophoula to come stay the night at the house. Sophoula is one of the most respected women in the village because she is the one that dresses the dead when they die.
You see, burial space is at such a premium in Greece because of the lack of arable land that you are only guaranteed a burial tomb for three years. Therefore they don’t embalm you or do anything to prolong your body. A group of women in the village are usually designated with the task of coming in and cleaning and dressing the body for a wake – Sophoula is the head of this group. Once cleansed and dressed Papou will be placed on the dining room table for 12 hours for a wake where the village will come and pay their respects and then promptly buried at dusk. After the three years are up his decomposed body is removed from the tomb, his bones ritually washed clean by the same women and then his remains are placed in a Nekratofio and stored on a shelf in the church….cremation is banned in Greece due to religious reasons.
Remind me never to die here.
To get my mind off of all this Despina, our next door neighbor invited me over for a drink. Despina is in her 40’s and is the oddity of the village and the source for much gossip. Living amongst all the octogenarians she has managed to build a fairly modern house, raise a daughter, divorce a husband, travel the world and keeps up with the latest fashions…in essence she is the Greek village cross between Karen Walker and Samantha Jones. She had me over for Martinis and to watch Greek Idol (one of them actually sang “Staying Alive” for his song…..sad, Simon would have eaten him alive)…she showed me her pictures from a recent trip to Amsterdam and talk about cannabis coffeehouses and sex clubs. I appreciated her sentiment. She hates to see me closed up with all the old people and staying stuck in my house – she even offered to take me to the beach today, or go to Molivos (a resort town) but I’m not much up for it. It won’t be much longer I think…and I hope its tonight.
11:00am GDT
I’m alone with Grandpa – my Mother went to go fetch the doctor one last time before the weekend to see if there is anything they can do. The doctor’s don’t work weekends here. If you’re on the verge of dying over the weekend you need to go to the hospital in the Capital City. So if you don’t have a car or money for a taxi…you better hope you can hold on till Monday – ahhhh village life.
The neighbors around us have the bouzouki music playing this morning. The sun is out and shining – all in all a beautiful day on a sun-dappled island in the Aegean Sea. When I was a child I used to love going to the beach everyday. I’d come home with a tan. Right now all I can think is about the pain that my Papou is going through. God I must sound so pathetic when you read this. Whine, whine, whine.
Have you ever seen “Head On”? Awesome movie! At times I feel very much like the main character and right now the music playing in the village streets reminds me of the movie very much. The smell of burning wood to heat the water, the strumming of the bouzouki, the crowing of the roosters and the cooing of the doves or whatever the hell they are.
It’s almost lunchtime…maybe time for some Ouzo. Opa!
1:18pm GDT
The Doctor came by just now – she was late because she got stuck behind a herd of lamb and sheep. The farmers roam them through the streets just like in the old days – except instead of a horse or donkey they use a truck or motorcycle. I took pictures in case no one believes me.
Nothing new from the doctor - she said he is in renal failure and has thrombosis that will eventually lead to an embolism. She gave him a cortisone shot for the pain – when I asked about morphine or some narcotics she said it would take a few weeks to get some shipped from Athens.
7:29pm GDT
My Papou is dying and my mother can’t seem to accept that. On one hand she tells the whole village that he is dying and that she is ready for it, but at the same time she is intent on making him miserable. This is the side of her that is evil and unforgiving. The side that kicked me out of the house at 17 because she couldn’t have things her way. I think that she is bi-polar and OCD. She is unwilling to bend the rules or accept what life deals her.
An interesting proposition – who do you respect more – your dying father or your living son?
He has had the worst day by far today. He talks very little, interacts very little and has had nothing to eat and drink. When trying to change him (there was nothing in his diaper – which is scary) my Mom was more concerned with the bed sheets matching then with the comfort of my grandfather. I tell her that we have to let him have peace, that we have to let him have some control and dignity in the last moments of life and she dismisses me. If he doesn’t want water don’t force it upon him, if he doesn’t want to eat don’t shove it in his mouth…if he wants to let go and be free of the pain let him go – don’t force him to stay and suffer simply because of the fact that you can’t let go. She has been telling him to hang on so that my father can say goodbye – I think that’s unfair to my poor grandfather – why should he feel guilty for dying in the last moments of his life? She yells at me when I tell her to leave him be, she yells at me when I tell her not to force water down his throat so he won’t drown. Then she turns to me and says that I am evil for leaving home and that I’ve been nothing but trouble since I’ve been here. I should have never come – it was a mistake. Here I am with over 8 years of education and training to deal with situations like this and I’m being treated like a six year old.
My mother has never been very good at dealing with the men in her life – she likes to control them and has never been able to allow then to follow their own destiny. A decade or so ago I saw her belittle my Papou with a few choice words, but being that he was alone and needed her he shut up. My father can’t function without her because he needs her in order to live, eat, etc. Therefore I am the one man in her life that she cannot tame or control. I seem to be carrying the destinies of all three of us.
When I die – god help Mason!
She is now in the Salon (Dining/Sitting room) with her friends Constantina and Fotula discussing the finer aspects of the wake arrangements. Which tablecloths to set, how the room should be set up, where the bowl for the candles will go and what kind of food and cognac to put out – its quite the show….sigh.
Now he is not even speaking, he will briefly open his eyes but that’s about it. He won’t eat and water has to be sponged into his mouth – I think he is only holding on because he knows that my father is coming today. Today is the first day since I’ve been here that he looks like death. His cheeks have sunken in and his eyes have a glazed over look.
It’ll be nice to get out of town today. I have to go to the Capital City to go and get my father from the airport. It’s a beautiful Beltane Day here and the drive should be nice.
I found out from my mother that May Day is celebrated across Europe – it’s almost like Labor Day in the United States, but it still has an old world way about it. People celebrate the arrival of summer by spending the day in the Xorafia having picnics and celebrating nature. In the bigger cities they have a Maypole in the town square that people will dance around and hang flowered wreaths on their door. The government is shut down, the kids have the day off of school if it’s a weekday and the town celebrates in the tavernas until the wee hours of the morning. And then at Lammas (Early August) the country celebrates the end of summer with the beginning of three harvests with fireworks and parades. I remember one Lammas when I was 13 and in Greece – they would light bonfires and jump through them.
Time to go light the fire for the hot water so I can get ready for my trip across the island.
9:15pm GDT
I’m back from my trip to the Capital City. I stopped first by the bay just to get a view of the water – being a Cancer I can’t get enough of the water and give the fact that I’m on an island I needed just a moment or so to connect. It was great weather for a drive, and I noticed people in Xorafia all along the way picnicking and drinking. Cars were decorated in flowered wreaths and everywhere you went people were holding flowers in their hands. Happy Beltane – I find it odd that this is the holiday opposite to Samhain when the veil is the thinnest. Perhaps the symbolism is greater then anyone realizes.
I met my father at the airport – he looks better then I remember him last. We caught up on things on the way back to the village. My father has always been cool when it comes to our relationship. I’m unsure if it’s because he is a Cancer too or if it’s because he has suffered so much in his life. I think if it was not for my mother he would be a lot more open to me and Mason. He caught me up on stuff on our drive back and when we got to the house my Papou barely registered he was there. I think he raised his eyebrows. At this point he is catatonic and all the villagers are saying it’s only a matter of days if not hours.
I have to leave at 5:30am tomorrow to get to the airport. After my Dad said hello to my grandfather we went to the cemetery to see my Yiayia’s remains. The church is buried into the side of a mountain where an old pagan temple used to be. There in the floor is a well that springs fresh water and is considered to be blessed by the Virgin Mary – that is why the church is named after her. Many miracles have been done by drinking the water…
We went into the Nekratofio (where the bones are stored after burial.) I saw my grandmother’s box so elegantly decorated and engraved. I had to see…I had to say goodbye and touch her one more time. The box’s interior has a white lace in it where her bones and skull are. I touched her head – its gross, but it’s the way of the village, it’s my way too I guess. I miss her. I felt sorry for the poor people of the village that cannot afford a box. Their remains are thrown in the basement of the Nekratofio in plastic bags. Sometimes the bones aren’t even afforded that luxury.
At the top of the mountain is a great view of the village nestled in the mountains. I sat there for a bit and meditated while my Dad went searching for relatives who had passed. I found a third cousin and a Great Uncle.
Tonight we had our final dinner as I leave in the morning. In the end I’m glad I came and was able to find some closure as I feel that I may never come back to this village for a long long time – all that connected me here will soon be gone.
As the May Day parties are droning in the background and the bouzouki music is playing I am reminded of something that a village friend pointed out today. Lesbos had one of the harshest winters on record this last year. It actually snowed and got below 0. Something that has not happened in well over 100 years. Because of that the orange and lemon trees in my Grandparent’s yard died from the frost. Every summer I would come here the trees would be green with leaves and ripe with fruit, now the leaves are brown and crisp and the fruit is shriveled. How appropriate that as the last caretaker of these trees is dying they are dying with him.
11:11pm GDT
Giorgios Panagotis Kazantzis died on May 1st at 9:43pm Greek Daylight Time. He was 86 years old. I was the only one watching him when he took his last breath even though there was a room full of people. I motioned to my mother and she saw it too. I saw him shudder and leave his body. It was surreal. I ended up helping dress him and getting him into the coffin, because he has to set before rigormortis sets in. The wake is tomorrow and the funeral tomorrow evening. I’ve delayed my flight till Tuesday.
There is now a vigil of three village women around him tonight – no sleep for the house tonight.
May he finally rest in peace…
Is anyone even reading this far into my journal anymore? I like to think that you guys who truly consider me a friend have stuck it out. If you have…thanks, it means more to me then you will ever know.
I am dressed in black from head to toe – even my underwear. I’ve gotten no sleep and had no shower this morning. My grandfather is cold to the touch now and rigormortis has set in. His coffin lid is propped up out on the street to signify that there has been a death at this house. Incense is burning and villagers are stopping by to pay their respects and fill his casket with flowers. It’s actually quite beautiful seeing my Papou surrounded by Roses, Oleander, Wild Poppies and other native flowers.
3:40pm GDT
It’s all over – he is buried in the plot next to where my grandmother was. I had a hard time at the service, and on the walk up to the cemetery. His coffin was placed in the hearse and we all followed it through town and up to the church. We were able to pass by downtown where he got a standing by all the locals and we even got by his favorite taverna. I’m so beat.
Dimitri, my 1st cousin from Athina showed up for the funeral today – it was quite a nice surprise. Towards the end of the service we ended up splitting along gender lines (how Greek) the men went to the Taverna to have Ouzo and Mezedes while the women went back to the house to gossip and eat sweets. It’s weird to be in my grandparents’ house with out them here – they’ve always been here. It’s now my parents’ house and in reality my house – it’s quite odd.
I need to sleep.
I miss you Papou.
Happy Anniversary baby….I wish I was there to give you a hug and a kiss, maybe next year. Today is mine and Mason’s Eighth Anniversary, the one year anniversary of our commitment ceremony…and I’m stuck here half a world away.
The house seems empty and sad without my grandfather here. My Papou used to tell my mom in the past few years that the woman is the flower of the house – she brings life and beauty to it – since my grandmother had died the only time the flower would blossom is when my Mom was with him. Now it’s just a house…not a home.
Tons of people stopped by last night to pay their final respects to our family. I met a few of the village kids who I used to hang out with during my summers on the island as a child. They are now my age, with families of their own working hard at village life. One is an ambulance driver (OK, it’s a hatchback with writing on it, but that’s as official as it gets here) and he make regular trips to the Capital City (he also turned out to be my 2nd cousin). One is a repairman for household appliances and the other is a farmer like my grandfather. It’s strange to see them all grown up. The last time I saw them they were just kids, not grown men….sigh.
The entire village turned out for the funeral, as my grandfather was well liked and respected. I met 14 second cousins, 12 third cousins and a few fourth cousins as well. The funeral was a symbol for something larger though - few if any, of my grandfather’s generation are surviving. My parents and those like them are taking over and the village is changing for good. Donkey travel is now done by pick-up, TV’s have replaced the evening chats and the lights from everyone’s houses now blocks out the once dominant stars. Welcome to the 20th Century I guess…
11:51pm GDT
What a night. For my last night here I asked my parents if we could go out and have a nice “Greek” dinner in Kalloni. Everyone needed the break after the past few days especially my mother. We invited Despina to come along with us since she had been so good to us during this whole time. We decided to go into Kalloni and Skala Kalloni – which is the “Beachfront” part of the city. It was a beautiful evening, the moon was full and gilltering off the still Bay and we were able to get a table right by the water. We had Kalamari, Saganaki, Taramosalata, Koratiki Salata, Beeftekia, Kaftotiri, Souvlaki, Gyros, Patates Tiganites, and washed it all down with some nice ouzo from Plomari
( a village on Lesbos) - they make the best Ouzoin the world.
We talked about death, life, politics and Greece. The whole time we were there I kept thinking that the group of Australian bears at the table next to us speaking English were cruising me. We ended up taking a short walk along the shore and admired all the little villages dotting the hills with there lights. Fisherman were getting ready to go out and do some moonlight fishing – which they say is the best time.
By the time we got back to my sardine can of a car we were all full and happy and drove back through the city. We had decided to stop by Despina’s boyfriend’s bar on the way home in the village to say hello and have one final drink, on the turnoff to the village the Police were out and flagging people down. Confused I pulled over with my parents and Despina – it was a DUI/Immigration check. Many times Bulgarians, Pakistanis, etc. will travel at night so as not to bring attention to their lack of documents. In addition, Greece has one of the highest accident rates in Europe so the EU is really pressuring on a crack down. Mind you I didn’t have my passport or the rental agreement from the company in my car due to me thinking that I was safely tucked away in the village. Having three glasses of Ouzo (at 70 proof by-the-way) would have definitely registered me on the breathalyzer even though I was fine. Luckily, my father being the suave Greek that he is slipped the police officer a €20 and we were on our way to the bar :-)
Now I’m buzzed, tired and happy to be headed home. I have to get up in 4 ½ hours to shit, shower and shave and get my ass to the airport in Mytilini…the Capital City.
I had a puddle jumper from Lesbos to the mainland this morning. I swear to god I am scared to death of those things as I think that a propeller is going to fly off and cut the plane in half. I got to Athens safely and Mason had tried to get me bumped up to first class, but with no luck so I’m hopefully in an exit row by myself again – the attendant said that the plane was not that full
Security is uber-tight around here. I was asked a billion questions at check in and again at the gate. This is the first contact I’ve had with civilization in over a week so the first thing I did was get and International Herald Tribune
and went to McDonald’s. I read about all the prisoner abuse going on in Iraq and I quickly hid my passport – it is not the best time to be an American abroad.
Overall, I am happy that I came to Greece and got to spend some time with my grandfather before he passed away. I will always love him and I feel gratified that I got to say goodbye.
I’ll be back by tomorrow :-p
??:??pm (2,050 miles from New York City – ½ way over the Atlantic Ocean)
The Ocean is freaking huge, and the Atlantic
is not even the biggest out of all of them. I look out of my window and all I see is blue. I’m tired and bored and I want to be home…most of all I am really starting to miss my grandfather. I’m thankful for the time that I got to spend with him – as short as it was. I find it hard to fathom that a week ago I was feeding him and shaving him and now he is gone. He was such a sweet man, he worked so hard his entire life, so hard. I hate the fact that he had to suffer the last week before he went.
My Mom shared a story with me about him before I left. In the past few years he had really lost the ability to walk well. All the years of hard work in the Xorafia had done extreme wear and tear on his body. He had to give up his daily trips the the Xorafia, had to give up the goats and had to sell his donkey. Even in the last few hours of his life he kept talking about having to go feed the goats, and tend to the olives. He sold his beloved donkey to a villager who kept him in a Xorafi and beat him mercilessly because that was the type of person he was. One night on one of my Papou’s last visits to the Taverna where he would hang out he saw his old Donkey tied up to a post. He saw the bruises and welts on the animal’s body and started to weep. The Donkey recognized him…his smell, his aura, whatever and came over to him and licked his hands. That’s the type of person he was – so kind and so good.
I found an old photo of him before I left and I asked my mother if I could have it. He must be in his 30’s in the photo – I think we look a lot a like. I hope that I can be half the man he was.
Jesus I’m going to cry on the plane.
I am thankful for...
It's been slowly creeping up the last few nights, but last night was the first moment when I felt it truly in the air. There was a chill that you could feel deep in your bones and the rain from earlier in the evening hung in the air like a cold mist emerging from a horror flick. The leaves were soggy under my feet, but as new ones fell from the trees above I could feel them crunch as I moved forward. The smell of wood stoves lightly peppered the air and I could feel warmth of my leather jacket flooding into my body.
Autumn has arrived and I feel at one with the world. It's my favorite season and for some reason it always makes me feel better then at any other time during the year. I look at this fall with anticipation as my last in Colorado because next year I may be in Toronto where the colors of the trees will remind me more of home - blazing reds, bright oranges, vibrant greens and earthy browns all dancing upon the limbs of the trees. My favorite holiday, Mabon, has passed but soon comes Samhain/Halloween and then the eventual crush of winter with its frigid cold and bright white snow. While I may curse that type of weather at 7:30 on a Monday Morning as I scrape my car...I will enjoy it none-the-less because it brings warm nights by the fire, hot cocoa with kahlua, and hockey on TV.
This weekend is Thanksgiving in Canada - which I always think is more appropriate then it's American counterpart in late November. This is the appropriate time for the harvest and for giving thanks for the bounty of the land and the friends and family that bless our lives. The leaves are changing and as the earth prepares for its winter slumber we too prepare for the cold and the darkness of this part of the wheel of the year.
So I am thankful this weekend...thankful for my friends here and around the world, in real life and in cyber life. Thankful for my health and my puppy dogs. Thankful for my connection to the divine/God/Universe. Thankful for our Canadian Immigration Application. Thankful for my loving and gracious soul mate. Thankful for the return of crisp evenings and warm fires.
Posted by Nikolas at 03:32 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBackOctober 01, 2005
Memories of a young queer boy
So Mason is going to Montreal next week - his first real solo vacation since we've been together. We decided a few years ago that it would be OK with both of us if the other needed to take a break. This way I get to explore museums and beaches and he gets to go dancing at circuit parties and explore new cities. Anyway...
So his whole trip to Montreal got me thinking about the first time I ever got to go there. It was 1990 and I was 16. My older and automobile blessed friends, Steve and Brian, who were 18 decided to make a road trip from Massachusetts to Montreal. The way we got to pay for it was by taking Steve's grandmother, who I only knew as Gram, who had a friend in Montreal she wanted to visit. So we all piled in the car and made the 8-hour trip through Massachusetts and Vermont to Quebec and into Montreal. It's been 15 years now and the memory is a little fuzzy, but I do remember cobblestone streets, glistening office towers, the lust that seemed to penetrate every section of the city...even the homeless seemed sexy.
We dropped Gram off and found a hotel room. Since the drinking age in Quebec was 18 they decided to go get shnockered...I tagged along thinking that I would end up having to stay in a cafe somewhere, but when we got to the door I was waved in and proceeded to have my first experience in a bar. Needless to say I was awestruck. Brian and Steve who were joining up with the Army and Air Force, respectively, when they returned back home decided to take full advantage of the liquor laws. We went from one straight bar to the next all the time I knew deep down inside I wanted to see a gay bar or meet one of those sexy French-Canadian men my 16-year old brain had fantasized about for the last three months.
I played it straight, I talked about women and I drank my two friends under the table. This went on for the next few days - there were some sightseeing excursions: The Olympic Stadium, the underground City, Parks and Museums, but every night Steve and Brian wanted to experience diving into a vat of alcohol - perhaps it was their fear of entering the military at a time when we were going to go war with Iraq...the first time.
Eventually, they figured out what décolleurs meant in French and it was off to the strip clubs. To show you how gay I was I remember them buying me a lap dance. Now in Canada the strippers go down to nothing - nekkid! So hear I am, in a straight strip club, in a foreign country, heart pounding, longing to see a man instead of this naked woman's vagina that was 2 inches from my face. As I sat there trying to pretend that there was some type of stirring in my pants I noticed that there was a piece of lint on the stripper's outer labia. To show you how gay I was I wondered weather I should mention this fuzzball to the lovely lady, or simply pick it off. I opted to remain quiet and thanked every deity in the universe when she got off my lap and gave me a peck on the cheek.
The next day we were off to Ottawa for a one-night layover, which by-the-way was not as welcoming with it's liquor laws and let us know quite bluntly that they were not like the French. The next day we crossed the border into New York and made it back home by dinner.
I look back at my life back then and think about how many incarnations I've had since then to become the person that I am today. Steve ended up marrying an older woman in California and Gram died a few years after the trip. I came out to Brian before he left for the Air Force and he was the only friend who I had react violently to the news. We never spoke again, but I heard he lives back in Massachusetts in a loveless marriage.
I would Like to visit Ottawa and Montreal again, if only to do it as the real me and get to finally meet those cute French-Canadian boys :-)
