Caught in the loop of never enough weekend

Is it me or are the weekends getting shorter? I start off with such high hopes on Friday afternoons. I'll get this and that done Saturday morning. I'll squeeze that in and then I'll be able to devote some quality time to myself. And then suddenly it's Sunday afternoon and you haven't done all the things you wanted. You haven't taken that nap you promised yourself. You haven't finished that book that keeps staring back at you from the coffee table. You didn't get a chance to see the DVD the kids picked up for you. And Monday is looking menacingly near. *gulp* OK, I promise myself that I'll re-schedule this stuff for next weekend. It seems that I'm hopelessly caught in the loop of never enough weekend.

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Short story outside my office window in the making

I look outside my office window to rest my eyes from the computer. Start laughing. Grab my camera.

Here as an elderly man relieving himself in public behind the public toilet. Toilet-schmoilet, when ya gotta go, ya gotta go! Who has time to figure out how those doors open!

The pigeon resting on my window ledge witnesses this funny photo composition, turns to me with a raised eyebrow "Did ya SEE the old man? And you have a bone to pick with ME about bird droppings?"

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Awwww, look at the shivewing Gweek pedestwians!

Uh, excuse me, Mr. Greek driver. Yup, I'm talking to you. I've been driving in Greece long enough to know what you're up to. You're behind a steering wheel of a moving vehicle therefore that makes you the driver. The people outside of the vehicle are moving around on foot, therefore they constitute as pedestrians. Not to you. Nope. These suckers are moving targets! And the Elmer Fudd in you is screaming "Open Season fo' wabbits!'

You spot the Granny leaning on her cane. With her deficient reflexes and poor eyesight she's checking for any oncoming traffic. Just when she thinks the coast is clear and ready to step off the sidewalk onto the pavement, the blazing sign lights up in your mind: 50 POINTS! Grannies with walkers: 150 POINTS! Grannies that shake their fist at you and drop their walkers: 250 POINTS! Young men go for less because they can outrun the car's bumper. You only brake for beautiful women in hopes that one may cast a "come-on" look your way.

I can't change your habit. I try to set forth a good example on the road. But, no, you just honk at me because you're upset that I let ONE get away! OK, OK, you have your distorted fun. However, when it's freezing cold outside and the remaining pedestrians left standing are being whipped by severe winds and sleet, give them fair play. Give them the right of way. Let them pass. You are safely in your warm car, protected by the laws of nature. Be a sport, Elmer. Tomorrow the sun will come out and you can go at them again!

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2006 Bloggies

I just found out that John (Come to Find Out...) has made finalist for best-kept-secret weblog (aka the underrepresented weblogs, sort of like the underdogs of the blogosphere) at the 6th Annual Blog Awards!
Give me a J, an O, an H, an N! Gooooooo John!
hint, hint: I'm not bending any elbows, but you can vote here!

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If I met a genie that granted just-sports wishes

...I would wish I could be a figure skater! I'm fresh from watching the 2006 European Figure Skating Championships in Lyon this past week (on TV). Figure skating is one of the few physical competitions that hold me spellbound. The grace, the elegance, the fluid movements of the skaters. Hard-ass athletes disguised as ice dancers.
As a kid, I daydreamed of gliding over the ice with my Dorothy Hamil haircut and elegant figure skating dress. Alas, I never had it in me. I hung out in junior high with a friend who was very into figure skating. She trained after school every day -weekends included- for 6 (six!!!) hours. It's one of those sports where I root for every athlete and I am pained when one takes a fall or misses a jump. My hat off to all those kids somewhere off in the world practising their triple flip-triple toe combinations. Safe landings on the ice!

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Straight along the street

My husband doesn't speak English. While my parents-in-law thought he was attending an English language center as a schoolboy, he was in fact ditching classes and earning his pocket money by loading bricks at a nearby construction site. He had attended a few courses before he was lured away. Anyway, to make a long story short: He no spik ingliz.

One day he was running errands in downtown Athens. A couple of english-speaking tourists stopped him for directions. He looked up and down the street and gestured for them to follow him. They did. He turned left and walked ahead leading the way for about 2 blocks and then turned right. He turned around and with a broad grin said: "Straight along the street". The couple thanked him for his kindness and went along their tourist business.

Later on, when he was retelling the story, I inquired why he had walked almost half the way without giving them basic verbal instructions or perhaps a map drawing. He turned to me bashfully, "That was the only sentence I could remember from my English. It was useless until I got them at the point where I could actually use it". Greek ingenuity, you gotta love it!

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Paraskevidekatriaphobia

Paraskeva-what?
Paraskevidekatriaphobia. A morbid, irrational fear of Friday the 13th.
Hope no school kid gets hit with this at a Spelling Bee!

Word dissection:
paraskevi = Greek word for Friday
dekatria = Greek word for the number 13
Makes you glad to know good ole greek-language whippin' Flubberwinkle, doesn't it?

Darn! If I knew this malady existed, I would have an excuse NOT to come into work today! I just found out myself: How Friday the 13th Works.
Isn't the Internet awesome? Got a question? Just google it!

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Spend eternity watching reruns? Why not!

I wanted to be cremated when I'm gone. But this sounds like a much better idea: Woman Who Died in '03 Left in Front of TV


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Earthquake musings

An earthquake rattled all of Greece yesterday. Major rattle. 6,9 on the Richter scale. Thankfully, all's well because the ocean acted as a shock absorber.

Today, coming in for work most colleagues did not greet me with the usual "Whaccha do over the weekend?" No. Today's topic is -of course- yesterday's earthquake and what everyone was doing or where everyone was when the shaking started. I mean seriously people... Do I NEED to know the nitty-gritty details how your living room lights rocked back and forth? Do I WANT to hear how you were just getting ready to sit down for your Sunday lunch and the table swayed? No, thank you. I'll pass. I have quake memories of my own to recount...

My family and I lived in a tent for 4 months after the September 1999 earthquake of Athens hit. Lives were crushed in that natural phenomenon. We were fortunate enough not to grieve the death of a close relative or friend. My family and I were safe (physically, not psychologically). Although our house had been hit hard, the foundation and basic structure were secure and most of the interior walls repairable. I took a leave of absence from work for about 2 months to keep my children's sanity from wandering off as the after-shock tremors brought on nightmares and a distrust of the earth's stability. Suddenly, common daily routines, like bathroom visits or washing dishes became Herculean tasks. Neighbors and friends were giving each other courage, hope, water and food. It was a life altering experience that humbled and educated me.

When I returned to work (back then), many were sensible enough not to ask me to retell my personal experience. Others were just plain pudding heads who assumed that whining how the earthquake cost them their finest dinnerware and swarovski collection was their way of partaking in the quake experience. The things that fell, that broke, that shattered were of no importance to me and I do not appreciate it when people dramatize the death of objects.

So, it doesn't matter where you were when the earthquake started rattling. How much did the earthquake REALLY rattle you? Counting what matters is what matters.

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