moments of bliss

Sometimes when my mind drifts in circles as I lay on the couch or wash my hair or walk the dog or smell a flower...
I think of certain times that were absolutely blissful.

Last night I was laying in bed.  It was 9:00 and I was going to sleep until 11 when I was due to meet some friends at a bar for a solid night of drinks and dancing.

I started remembering a time when I was alone at my house in California, wind and rain against windows and I was wishing it would stop so I could ride my bike to Alex's and I remember I didn't have socks on.  I was making tea, boiling water in a green kettle that had long lost it's whistle and had been in my life for as long as I can remember.  As the water boiled I went for a mug, but there were none.  The kitchen was clean because I was living with Bethany, and it too was without any mugs.  Checked the living room, piano room, front porch, back porch.  For all we drink, it was remarkable to not find a single one.  I rounded the hall and climbed the stairs to my bedroom.  Ah, thought I.  The small table next to my bed had probably 5 mugs, 3 wine glasses and a few more cups. I grabbed the mugs, and before I went back down the hall peaked into the room where Lauren and Taylor slept.  I found there a collection of ten or so various items of drinking ware.  So I made some trips. Carried mine, then theirs.  On my second trip down, I figured, eh, since I am doing this, might as well see what Daniel has stocked up.  And he did.  Mostly water glasses, which I stacked precariously on my journey downstairs.  They clattered and shifted as I set the load on the counter, and looked down at the array of glasses, now more than 20.  The water was boiling, and would have been whistling if it had a whistle to whistle.  For a second I reflected on that whistle.  I think it had melted off or something.  I can't remember the exact story.  Maybe it was behind the oven with the cobwebs.  I'll never know. 

I set those glasses down, turned around and went into Spencer and Bethany's room.  And I just had to smile to think of those lovers that I love so well sharing that space as I collected 7 or so cups and made my way back to the kitchen.

And after the dishes were done, my tea was poured, I sat down on the kitchen floor, mug in hand, sipping tea and eating a cold artichoke.

And I was boiling over with love for my roommates.  If I had had a whistle, it surely would have blown pink clouds of gushy hearts and the like.  Davie D came in and sat on a stool and had some artichoke and I poured him a cup of tea and told him of the mugs and he said something like "yes you sure are slobs" and I said something like "slobs but we are all slobs and I love them for it for their glass hoarding tendencies and messy beds wet towels on the floor and it all."         

And maybe I was thinking too poetically but it seemed to me that in every one of those mugs there was a little story and most of the times that story was of us.  Cold mornings drinking tea, nights of wine at the bedside, bottles of whiskey poured into glasses, of Bethany bringing Spencer coffee in bed, of Lauren bringing me wine after a shower, of beer with Daniel, Lauren and I laying together in my blue room.  It's too sentimental now, but then and there on the floor with that mug in my hand listening to the rain and chatting with Dave I felt as blissful as could be.

I am thinking there will be more blissful posts to come.  A trend perhaps. 

And, my birthday.  9:30am, Greg and Abbey are still sleeping off last night but I couldn't sleep last night.  This village we live in is turning wild, with tourists and noise.  I danced until 3, my best partner a 50 year old English man who really did have moves.  The night went on with perfect timing the right songs and new faces French American Australian English Greek.  In the afternoon on my first day of my 23rd year and I've been on a bike ride jaunt, tried to help make flowers grow and am now drinking a Mythos as Greg makes spaghetti sauce, smelling boiling tomatoes garlic spices and our house is really quite warm and homey.  And a thunder storm in the night, lightning like I've never seen, the thunder rattled our windows as we stayed inside with cake, whiskey and blankets, the three of us and the end to a very good day.

And an even better year.  

Konitsa

Greg was visiting and our lazy lifestyles became even lazier.  A couple trips to town, one muddy romp, whiskey at bars and wine with dinner.  Work on sundays, maybe saturdays.  Not too much else, besides that occasional Ostrich egg and visits from the sheep.

So we jumped in a cab, following Greg's longing to visit Meteora, Greece, and monasteries built on clifftops.  That meter was going way too fast and we jumped right back out, and hitched a ride to Preveza with cigarette smoking gas station employees in a blue pick up who liked the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Abbey's eyes.  From there a bus to Ioannina, where we killed five hours through wine, free food, dice and a lakeside walk.  A night bus to Kalambaka so we could walk to Meteora where we stopped to shelter ourselves in a camp sight for a night.

Three of us in a tent build for one where we insisted on laughter to avoid hating each other during sleepless, uncomfortable hours.  A full moon provided an illusion of dawn which lasted through the night, as I lay anxious, awaiting that feeling of sun through tent walls.

In the morning we walked.  Fields of wildflowers, tall grass, and those rocks. It seemed as though we had been lifted, taken across the universe and deposited on some long lost planet where stone reached sky and color filled in the rest like Crayola streaks from a childhood hand.  I tried to imagine some daring monk who had first decided to build places of worship so precariously atop those cliffs.  Someone who understood a benefit in worshiping God and nature in the same sentence, perhaps.  Or just had a longing for the dangerous.  Whoever he was, and whatever the motivation, bravo.  We followed a cobblestone trail fading away to dirt, and marveled at the flowers, trees, stones.  Due to some impulse we pushed ourselves behind hanging ivy and between yellow rock following an internal notion of goodness and discovered a cave, which grew larger with every step and we rested awhile wondering about presences before us and shared space throughout time.

The day continued on in that fashion, admiring nature, architecture, art and faith and how it is the combination that creates the religion.

We had walked far, hard, and in such heat.  We needed food, drink, a good nights rest.  Hitched a ride to town with a German rock climber, grabbed our bags, a beer, lunch, and a bus ticket back to good ol' Ioannina with the hope of sleeping in our own beds later that night.  Arriving at the bus station the general feeling amongst us was so positive it radiated, pulsing, into all of those around us, for really, it had been a fantastic day.  We purchased our tickets to Vonitsa, and had time for coffee before our bus left.

On that bus, the last one of the trip, we drank Ouzo and played 21 questions, (Scooter, Lasagna, Sunset, Jon Bon Jovi, Castle...) and swam with a comfortable ease in the fact that we would soon be back to Vonitsa, a quick 20 minutes from our house, where our neighbor would give us a ride home, and the rest of the night would be filled with wine and love and good nights of sleep.

However, as it goes, it went a little differently. The bus stopped after an hour and a half, we glanced out the windows and, knowing it wasn't our stop, stayed cozy and content in our seats as the bus emptied.  Completely.  Eventually the driver came on, and yelled something in Greek the must have meant,

            "We're here, what the fuck are you waiting for? Get the hell off this bus. I've got a busy night and your three are slowing me way down."

So we stepped into the night, into an unfamiliar town, and man were we confused. 

            "Vonitsa?" We asked, to the general public. Yes, it replied, "Konitsa". 

Abbey looked at me. Greg looked at Abbey.  I looked... confused.  Konitsa.  It rang through our minds like the church bells of earlier.  Konitsa, Vonitsa.  Of course.

We took out our handy road map, and there it was, in small black writing.  The exact opposite direction of where we wanted to go, and only about 20 minutes from the Albanian border.  Lovely.

We ran through our options. Stay the night? All Lonely Planet had to say of the place was that it is "dangerous", so we decided to try our best to head out.  Too dark and far for hitchhiking, we resigned to getting on another bus, if one was running so late.  And, after only a little frustration, one angel of a cab driver, and some wonderful timing, we were on a bus back to Ioannina with our Ouzo and the memory of a trip to the border of Albania to look back on whenever we may need a good laugh.

The events that happened next seemed to occur in a rapid fast forward.  Backtracking is never enjoyable, but we tried our best at positivity.  There were only six of us onboard, and as we began chatting to the three boys sitting around us the conversation quickly grew interesting as we swapped answers to the question that is always asked first in the life of travel: "where are you from?".  Two boys from Afghanistan and one from Pakistan.  As we answered "America" we instantly became full to the brim with questions for one another, and in what seemed like 10 minutes, we were back at the station, in a city which, by now, we knew quite well.  Our 12 brown eyes took turns exchanging glances, as hands reached towards shakes, and eight of those eyes headed for Athens, Greg included. 

Abbey and I took our four to a cheap hotel, strange movies, comfy beds and new perspectives.

An Egg

And so we were gifted this Ostrich egg. Walking down the road, homeward, Abbey and Greg and myself.  We were hoping for a ride but none came so we continued foot after foot, slowly, patiently.  Stopped to say hi to Bert and Ernie, our Ostrich friends.  They didn't say much, as usual. Yet we walked away, proudly, with one shining egg.

An Ostrich egg has the equivalent to 24 hen eggs.  So we began thinking of what to do with it.  Make the biggest scramble ever? Feed a hungry village? Hard boil, and make 100 egg salad sandwiches?

So we got the thing home.  Set it on that shiny counter.  Poured some Ouzo.  And the events that followed... well...




We deserved another shot of ouzo.

What happened can be interpreted 3 ways.

The first:

Six hands, six eyes, three similes, two holes punctured on either side of one huge egg.  Simple, really. The process went much quicker than we thought...
A hammer and screwdriver were the useful tools to do the trick. As I delicately punctured the largest single cell known to mankind, patient faces stared back at me and I thought, "Alright, here we go.."
Yellow membrane and clear royal jelly escaping the shell. Spontaneous spurts of dancing accompanied by ouzo shots and laughter, what could be better than this experiment? Lights flashed and I was curious of the aftermath of the successful outcome...Fritatta? yes. Brownies? ok. Cookies? yep. All made and still, more egg left...
Looks like we're set for a week.

The second:

(and then this shit fucking happened, we were at this disco hanging out with Albanian drug lords and they were like, "Hey! Come on our yacht."  And we were like, "K."  Then on the way out this rival gang was waiting outside with a bunch of guns and dogs and hummers and rocket packs.  And they were like, "Bro you've crossed us one too many times."  Then this guy opened his shirt and had a dynamite vest on and was like, "This can go one of two ways Bro."  And the other guy was like, "Bro..."  Then, somebody threw a smoke bomb and we jumped on the back of a motorcycle and then next thing I remember I was on a yacht smoking cigars and being served by siamese twins from Myanmar).

The third:

Lost a week of my memory. An empty egg shell, but where did it come from? Ah, fuck it.  Lets paint it red, celebrate Easter, play soccer by the church.  Look at all these brownies, and cookies! Cookies for breakfast, but ah damn, we are out of milk.  Cookies and seltzer water.  The pools overflowing with rain.  Where do the sheep go to stay dry? Think I will stay inside today and read a book. 




And apart from all that, this past month has taught me many valuable lessons. For example, when you go dancing with Albanians, you should spin three times every time they spin you.  When you add ice to Ouzo, it turns a foggy gray color.  You cannot buy anything between the hours of 1 and 6, so you might as well sleep.  Don't leave laundry out in a windstorm, chances are it will fall in the pool.  Never turn your back on the kids near the church, they have tricks up every sleeve. And, that one Ostrich egg can produce a frittata, 20 cookies, a whole plate of brownies, and you will have egg-in-a-bowl for a left over.







*this (mostly fiction) post was written by three. without our combined recollections it could never have been made possible. special thanks.