So of course we went to Monticello.

Callum read a biography of Jefferson earlier this summer, and of course we couldn't leave D.C. without seeing the Jefferson Memorial.  I love the Jefferson Memorial, but I might love Monticello more.  This is my favorite room, a little screened porch off his library.  We weren't allowed to take pictures in the house, but his library and this porch were the best.

I could snap all the pictures I wanted of the gardens, though.

This little spot was my favorite.  Little room, perched on the hillside beside the gardens.

What a spectacular vantage point from which to survey your land and home.

Get your nickels out, 'cause here's the money shot.  What a house it is, huh?  You don't need me to tell you what an impressive man Thomas Jefferson was.  I choke up whenever the Morning Edition anchors read the Declaration of Independence at the 4th of July, thinking, he did that for us.  Louisiana Purchase, Lewis and Clarke, masses of inventions and adaptations.  But what a mass of contradictions.  The whole slave/equality thing.  He makes a point of saying not to spend money you haven't earned, but died with a debt nearly equal to the national debt at the time.  Good grief.  We shouldn't expect our national figures, past or present to be paragons.  We're merely human, flawed all. 

What I love most about Thomas Jefferson is how much he loved his "little mountain."  House and hill were a source of endless strength and joy to him.  I can relate to that. 

"Architecture is my delight, and putting up and pulling down is one of my favorite amusements."  Kindred spirit?  Not in everything, but in this, certainly.

As you can imagine, Greece has been much on my mind these past days. It's not like I have a particular in with Greece, you know, like we're that close. So tight Greece and me. BFF. There are thousands who are feeling this particular fear and heartache far more than I. Still, even before the horrible stories and images in the news, I've been thinking about our trip a lot. This was the kick off to our summer, and now summer is coming to a close.

I haven't talked about our trip here nearly as much as I thought I would. Life gets in the way, as I often say, and really this blog rarely does what I expect it to. But oh, it was such a special time. Special for my family, and just for me...a real personal kind of special in so many ways. I wanted to be brave and I was. I navigated metros and menus, and I got a lot of parts of this trip so right. I sunk into that place like slipping into a hot jacuzzi on a chilly New Year's Eve. Relief and exhilaration all at once. The air around me fairly crackled with my connection to the sea, the sky, the food, the people. If someone handed me an airline ticket today, even with the promise of a bumpy, smoky landing, I'd go without question. Neel can get Callum to school tomorrow.

We're coming up on our fourth anniversary in the little gray house. Right after we moved in, Hurricane Isabelle dealt us a glancing and memorable blow. It was alarming and scary to suddenly live in a place that could be taken away in a heartbeat. But that can happen anywhere, I suppose. Later that fall, Santa Ana winds fueled trememdous fires in Southern California, seeping San Diego County, the home we'd just left, in a smoky haze. Every day I checked the news, listening to the internet feed of my old radio station, and heard stories of fires near our old condo, and friends stuck inside as their cars and yards were covered in ash. Between the hurricane that literally bore down upon us and fires swarming around where we used to be, I was far more emotionally affected by those fierce flames. I've never tried to camoflague it; a large part of my heart was left behind in San Diego, so of course I felt the impact of those fires keenly.

I feel the same way when I hear about these fires in Greece. Sorrow and yearning, all wrapped up in the knowlege that Greece is not mine, it never really was. I can love it though. Today I'll use so pictures to show you what I love so much. I'm still working on finding words.

Greece Travelogue, Installment #1

Residence Georgio, Athens, Greece

June 10, 2007
It doesn’t matter how long it took, or how difficult the trip, or what went missing (Callum’s luggage) because we finally made it. Neel and I stood in the lobby of the hotel feeling like junior high kids at a new school. We knew no one, and Neel had been warned before we left that this could be a grumpy group. Callum picked up on our own shyness and was clingy and whiny. I felt clingy and whiny too. We boarded busses and dropped shy smiles at everyone around us. Callum is the only child. Dinner, the sign in the hotel lobby said, was to be at the Atticos restaurant. What a surprise then when the bus pulled up at the base of Dionissou Areopayitou (Grand Promenade) and a handsome Greek man stood up and said “I am Cosomo and I will be your guide for the night (we never saw him again). We will depart the bus and walk perhaps 25 minutes past the Acropolis to the restaurant.”

It seems to be a cliché to say that you’re in the shadow of the Acropolis…perhaps because it looms so high above the city. Even if you walk the streets of Athens knowing that it's perched on your shoulder, you can turn up a side street and still gasp in surprise as it rises about you. And believe me there was nothing shadowy about this awesome and venerable temple that night. Instead we were cast in the glow of the Parthenon. The setting sun bathes it in the color of a newly ripe peach. Not as fleeting as ripe-peach season, but just as sweet. We all know how sentimental I can be, but my tears surprised even me. It’s been seventeen years and I was so very happy to be here again.

As we walked, musicians tune up and dogs lie lazily beside their chatting owners. Mothers have gathered here with their children for a last romp over low walls and benches before dinner.

What a place for a playgroup! It's time for the evening volta (stroll), and the cobbled road below the Parthenon is bustling with the relaxed ease of a Saturday night. It translates to any language, any city.

After turning through an olive grove and up a side street, we climbed four flights of winding stone stairs to come to the rooftop restaurant. It is such a yucky, awkard feeling, to be so tired and know not one single person. Again uncertain, we looked around to find a table with three seats left. I felt like lunch time in the cafeteria of my junior high school. Like I would walk up to group after group asking to sit, only to be told that "no, these seats are saved." One of my goals for the year was to be more brave, and that was tested here as I forged ahead to ask if we can join what looks to be an already connected group. But it's not junior high, and they welcomed us, shifting a little to allow us access at the table. Some wine and food (especially wine!) and all will be well.

First the mezedes (small plates) appear. Olive tapenade and bread (Callum’s in heaven!), dolmades, spanikopita, a chopped salad rich with sweet yellow peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers and tangy greens. And introduction to Greek dining, done very, very well. Finally the entrée, a dish of tender stewed beef in a tangy-sweet tomato sauce over orzo. After a day of airplane food, I couldn't get enough of it. The wine keept coming, even with dessert...not baklava, but sweet, sliced watermelon and honeydew.

Dinner eases along and I realize that I’ve been in this place before. I’m an old hand in the role of "spouse at scientific meeting". I am accustomed to these people, used to their geeky sweetness where sentences ranging from, “It binds to the A chain at CQ1...” to “and they said they were going to open a ‘Strom Thurmond Wellness Center of all things…’” shift around me. It’s a cosmopolitan group, featuring labs from Germany, Montreal, Holland, Australia, and even more exotic places like Kansas City. Scientific meetings are conducted in English, so this is actually a very safe way to see Europe. Surrounded by people who speak all your language (sort of, what the hell is 'the A chain at CQ1'??), who come from many parts of the world, yet, like you, find this place different, exciting and new.

As night fell around us, I really started to relax (had nothing to do with all the wine...and the jet lag, I'm sure!). We were over the first of our hurdles (getting here, and then getting here by navagiting the Athens Airport, taxis and hotel and, hardest of all, meeting people.) and Greece stretched before me. I said at the beginning of my post that it had been seventeen years, and even though I knew it, that night, under the glow of the Parthenon, I really knew it. All this time, I had been waiting to get back.

If my soul is Greek, then I must be home.

On the metro from Athens to Piraeus.

Callum's been playing a new game lately. "What do you like more...?" and then he fills in the blanks with things that are increasingly harder for me to choose from. The only rule, and this is payback for years of my own unwillingness to compare things, is that I can't say, "apples and oranges." I have to choose. He has some of the quirkiest categories, like "olive oil or gold," or (maybe not so odd, but hard to pick) "beach or pool." I got a lot of this on this trip. When he was feeling neglected, the choices turned maudlin... "sapphires or me..." to which I'd have to say something like, "Who are you again?" I mean really kid, give me a break.

But here I am faced with my own dilemma. Is is better to have to wade through nearly 3 GIGS of photos from our trip and choose from my favorites or to have no photos at all?

No brainer.

Not "apples and oranges."

But, I have some work to do, clearly, before I can bore everyone with a serious pictorial history.

I always come back from a trip feeling really restless. I look around my house, my things, my whole life, totally dissatisfied. I want less things, better food, more time. If I were Greek (and a man), I'd close the door on all the unpacking and laundry and pantry restocking and head to the taverna for an ouzo, some mezedes, and several hours of sitting, watching and talking. In some ways it's exciting to think about reframing my life a bit, making it more Greek-like. Tamping the clutter (and tv) down to live more compactly. Constantly on this trip, I was pulling Callum in closer to me. He'd sprawl on the lobby floor of the hotel, pushing his ship back and forth, totally oblivious to the people who had to walk around him, or detour their rolling luggage out of his way. I wanted to reduce his footprint. Now that I'm home, I want to reduce mine.

But there is so much stuff. It swirls like static around me. Neel doesn't think I could leave it all behind me, all this stuff, and move to my Cycladic dream home. I can't move to my Cycladic dream home (yet...although I'll have some photos of some of my options to show you soon!), but I can make it happen here. I might need some therapy, or a personal organizer first, but I could wake up and take a frappe' out to the back yard with me every morning rather than turn on the TODAY show. I can cook from my pantry and not overbuy each week at the grocery store. I can reduce my clutter so there's less to do to maintain it. And then, I can settle in. Summer is a good time to try.

And in case you're wondering, I got a lot more olives (every meal) than aquamarines (none) on this trip. Even though I tried!