I am cutting a yellow onion and it reminds me of something. The smell. Nevermind that I've probably cut over 100 yellow onions in my life, this one reminds me of something. The smell. And I read the news online, I am listening to Beirut on a cd from a friend and despite the headlines life is feeling pretty fantastic and yet this yellow onion is making me think of something. Lentil soup. Potato salad. Lila didi. Crossword puzzles. Rainy sunday afternoons, summer evenings barefoot with the fresh cut grass, Indian nights cooking with two others in such a simple kitchen, a snowy balcony. It could be anything, but it reminds me of something. I'll think on it.
2nd annual Abbey Bekha half marathon went down a treat. A year ago I shared that Eugene hotel bed with Abbey and Sarah, as Liam slept on the floor and we drank a little tequila and reminded ourselves how a good nights sleep is highly overrated, especially before race day. This year I watched Blow and went to bed early. Not quite as exciting. Next year? With limited expectations I fully expect us to be somewhere in Latin America salsa dancing the night away and again reminding ourselves not to fret about getting enough sleep. But we'll see when the time comes. This year - we started off casually making our way to the back of the pack. Who needs to be trampled by anxious Greek runners for five minutes until people sort themselves out? Not us. So we lingered and we waited and we settled in nicely. Until all at once and without any warning the entire group of 600 runners turned around in place. Not only were we instantly in the front, we were in the front facing the wrong direction as the gun went off and chaos ensued. 2 hours and 20 minutes later we were barefoot drinking a beer with our fabulous support team chit chatting about this and that. Overall the event was put together flawlessly, complete with those Grecian quirks that never get old... like handing out orange Fanta and Redbull instead of water. Put that together with the fact that they forgot porta-potties and you've got a bit of a mess. Loved every minute of it.
Fast forward to the next evening. Lo, Abbey and I decided to busk for loose change in the Paleros square. There was a rainbow in the mountains, a back drop for Lo and I as we strummed and sang as loud as we could, knowing our voices would dissipate into that night air before they had a chance to reach the ears of tourists in open restaurants nearby. Playing for them but mostly for ourselves and beyond that for the air, the stars, the chance at outdoor practice. We gathered a few fans, and came out ahead. Six euros 50 cents, 3 beers bought for us, and 3 chocolate eggs, (the kind that comes with toys - illegal in the states). And after it was Skippers, for the usual good people, a fire show, beers on tap, dancing, and a lost wallet.
And when I look at it, living here is so easy, so slow and wonderful. And my friends at home are asking for more writing in this blogg-o, but lately it's been hard as a routine develops here. My days are full to the brim even though I don't have much to do. What I do have: I have the most incredible roommates, and I am falling in love with this village. The amount of tea I consume and the sun on my face reminds me the past year and how and when to recognize the growth and continuation of it. More often than not I am cleaned by salt water instead of showers and willingly I jump, run, swing, climb, swim, thankful for this working body and wishing to do more of all that. And here, when you least expect it, the clouds drop thunder and lightning creating nighttime electric energy you can feel and nevermind all the mosquitos, all the flies. I have the opportunity to play music every minute should I choose. To dive into the ocean, spin fire, spend 15 minutes watching this one fly perched on the corner of this computer screen. It is still, and for that moment I forget how annoying they are, making room for admiration of their tiny bodies. Every miniscule moment. The kids in this town are now familiar and we've grown a family. House wine is good and inexpensive and while I'm home and while I'm away I am able to think, to listen, to try and to learn and I am genuinely thankful for all the small things.
I finish with the onion and push it to one half of the cutting board still pondering what the something is that I am reminded off but in the end I shrug because what does it matter? I know without needing to that from now on that
something will be the memory of cutting a yellow onion at a white table in a living room in my house in Greece the day after I lost my wallet and the day before tomorrow. No matter the memories that came before (onion oriented or not) the current moments relevancy is much easier to pinpoint than lingering in the past looking for a broad idea of what the current moment is causing you to remember. I take the memories the smell creates and move them back a notch to make room for the now: for the steadily growing memory of what is.
