Counting on it.

Thinking back on time in Greece.
The ongoings of seven months.

Flash back to march.  How when we first arrived I couldn't help but think how oddly empty the place was. And a little colder than I thought.
Abbey and I, one big bed, a swanky apartment, the sea, unfamiliar everything around each corner.  It seemed perfect.

So what to do with ourselves in an un-familer, small, empty, a-little-colder-than-I-thought town?
We did what anyone would do.  Sat ourselves down and drank the local drink with the locals.

Enter Ouzo.
And old men.

And the start of something good.

A month passed in a slow rainy sort of way.  Ouzo turning foggy with ice the sea turning dirty with storm.  Still we swam as we waited for the sun. 
Counting time as one way to count. Often passing time in memories.  Counting
    The days until summer.
        Empty wine bottles in a pool house in Santa Rosa.
            Candles on a table set for two. (one, two. me, you).
                Tomatoes on a vine turning red. Tomatoes on a vine staying green.
                    Mustaches in a room.
                        Spanish words I knew. Spanish words I didn't know.
                           
That was then.
This is after.                   
(1,2,3,4,5,6)    7 months in Greece and Paleros became more than passing time with Ouzo and the battle of a language barrier.  It became a home.  And our little house, over time, became cozy with bodies.
Greg.  (count the whiskey. count the balloons. count the bodies inside that tent.)
Carter. (count the dice. count the dances. count the bodies atop that scoot.)
Devin. (count the photos.  count the possible names for a rock in the sea. count the stars on a night hike.)
Junglers. (1,2,3,4,5.  Count surprises. count the magnitude of that earthquake. count the letters in the word ASSEMBLE. count the meanings.)

That was after.
This is the during.

Enter April becoming March.  Counting the years of my life. (23).  And changes in daily activities.  Count how many more people there are and how the sun is always out. (small crowded warmer-than-I-thought town.)
And in that crowd, new friends!  We found a family.  Too many dances to count.  Too many beers.  Too many shoes.  Too many getting to know you conversations fading to glad to know you conversations.  March becoming June. Turning to July.
    I counted other things.
        Steps to a front door.
            Coins dropped in an empty mandolin case.
                Dives I'd been on.
                    Days getting longer.
                        Suns up suns down.
                            Nighttime cups of tea.  Morningtime cups of tea.
                                Meals shared. Songs written.  Jokes made.
                                    Odd Jobs held.
                                        and, then.
                                            Wishes left on a fathers to-do list.
                                                Reasons for coming to Europe.

July becoming August.  Remembering those reasons and I left Paleros. (see you in a couple weeks, small waytoocrowded much-hotter-than-I-ever-thought town.)
    Counting
        Hours on a ferry ride.
            Points in a card game.
                Bulls running.  People falling.
                    Trains taken.
                        Switchbacks on a bike ride.
                            Good beers drank.  Bad beers drank.
                                    Thankfuls.  For Dave. All of them.
                                        Wishes left on a fathers to-do list. (less than before).

Enter August becoming September.  Our big, full house dwindling down.  The sun still hot, the ocean perfect.  We can count small things, on certain days. 
    Frisbee tosses and how long it takes to throw someone out of a ringo.  
        Days until we would move out.
            Big beers. Small whiskeys.
                Rides on a too-small-for-two bike.
                    Grapes in a vineyard. Peppers growing. (Turning red).
                        Teeth remaining. Teeth missing.
                            Empty Heineken bottles on a table at a bar near a church.
                                Nights spent on a boat.
                                    Bodies in a dinghy (too many).
                                        Familiar faces in a village.
                                   
And, over time, us moving out.  Packing up.  Those trinkets left behind by each visitor.  Sorting out trash from treasure.
    We counted clothes. 
        Old items replaced by new.
            Notes left on countertops, underneath fridge magnets.
                Old grocery lists. Receipts.
                    How many bits of black wire it takes to make a boat. How many corks to put inside for it to float.
                        Photos stacked and stuck, sticky, together. Count the days since that beer was spilt on the pile.
                            (Count how many tear when you peel them apart.)
                                Count the dance parties, the meals, the drinks, the laughs. 
                                    The reflection in the pool of a time well spent.  Happy faces smiling back in ripples.

And two almost three weeks of One American Left in Paleros.  That was when I counted all of this.  Counting also, pies made. Jars of honey.  Reasons to miss a place. (many).  Reasons to be glad to be going home. (more).
                         
So much counting for a time in my life where I wasn't really counting on anything.  No expectations, just time available and an openness to most things.  It was a fantastic summer, spent at once lazily but also full of adventure and discovery.  Lots of playing and some interesting bits of working more educational than anything else.  And some fantastic friendships made. Of the lasting variety. (Enter sappy music).

If that was the during, then this is the what's next.  Seattle. Family and friends and this little bit of writing.  (Trying to get it all down, but ended up writing about counting. Enter preschool teacher.)  Next it will be home sweet humboldt and a little bit of wondering. Plans for winter.  Wondering how they will play out, about  the surprises to come.  Wondering without wondering. Remaining eager.  And... how long till minds shift, until dreams change, replaced by something new.  The next unfmailiar.  Or, if they ever really will. (After all it's been about a year and I still dream of flying kites.)  

Whatever happens next, it's coming soon.  And I'm stoked.