Thursday 7 November 2013

Wait For Me!

It seems I'm always looking for my husband.  When we go shopping, he somehow disappears.  He's with me one minute and the next minute, he's GONE!  It doesn't matter where we are.  If it involves shopping, he vanishes.  Walking in a store, I will turn to comment on a shirt that I've found for him, but is he there beside me? No. He's in another section entirely. Either that, or he says he'll "wait" outside the shop for me. By 'wait', he means that if I nip into a store for three minutes he will be 'waiting' several stores away where, of course I can't see him.  For times like these, we have our 'signal'.  It involves a melodic whistle.  Yes, people think I'm rude or crazy, but you can understand my frustration, can't you?  He's there; he's gone! Where is he? Fweeeeeeeet!!  Fweeeeeeet!! I think that's him, halfway down the mall.  Oh, it is! He's the small dot on the horizon, waving at me.

This brings me to the night in question.  It was a cold one; the perfect night to rent a good movie, share some popcorn, and snuggle on the sofa under a warm blanket. So, off to the mall we drove.  J.P. pulled up at the back door and stopped.  I exited the car and said, "Be back in a few.  Wait for me here, okay?" "Okay," he said.  I made my way to the video store where I perused the shelves until I found the 'one' that would please us both, paid for it and headed to the other end of the mall, to the supermarket where I bought the required snack. Mission accomplished, I walked the length of the mall to the back exit.  

I opened the door. No car. "Oh," I sighed resignedly, accustomed to his disappearances, "he probably drove around to the side door to wait for me near the video shop." Through the door I went and over to the door nearest the video store. Opened it.  "Nope. Not here. Maybe he didn't want me to have to walk all the way back through the mall from the grocery store?  He knew I was going to get popcorn. He must be at the front door by the supermarket waiting for me." Back through the mall to the entrance. Outside...looked around.  "Not here!" Feeling exasperated and not just a little vexed, I could sense my blood pressure mounting.  I retraced my steps....back to the side door, and again to the back door.  NOT AT EITHER DOOR!!! Once again to the side door. "Okay, calm down. Just go to the front door again. He must be parked near the supermarket," I reasoned.  I jogged through the mall.  "No, he isn't here!  Where is he?" Stifling my frustration, I forced myself to walk very calmly albeit quickly to the back door.  There was his car!  I couldn't believe it.  There he was, parked a short distance away by the curb. He hadn't been there, before!  I opened the door and flung myself down onto the seat in the dark car.  I threw my head against the headrest dramatically and commenced to lambaste him! "WHERE THE HECK HAVE YOU BEEN?  I'VE GONE BACK AND FORTH FROM THE BACK DOOR TO THE SIDE DOOR TO THE FRONT DOOR THREE TIMES!! WHERE WERE YOU???? YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO WAIT HERE FOR ME!  I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!  I'M EXHAUSTED AND SO ANNOYED RIGHT NOW!!! SO, SO AGGRAVATED!!  I HATE WHEN YOU DISAPPEAR LIKE THAT!"  No answer for five beats and then I heard an unfamiliar voice, "You're in the wrong car."


Wednesday 30 October 2013

Before You Go

"Excuse me.  could you tell me where the mushrooms are?  I can't seem to find them."
"There just over there," indicates the produce manager, a tall, handsome, young man.
"Thanks a lot."
"I really like your shoes."
"Pardon me?"
"I like your shoes.  Where did you get them?" he asks.
The question takes me by surprise.  "Uh, they're from Benneton," I stammer.
"Oh.  Were they expensive?"
Why is he so interested in my shoes?  They're not even that nice.  Green suede, lace-ups, something like a running shoe.
"Um.  No.  In fact they were cheap.  I got them on sale."
"I think my mother would like shoes like that.  It's her birthday soon.  Maybe I'll get her a pair."
Inner sigh of relief!  Thank goodness it's nothing kinky!  He's only interested in my shoes because it's his mother's birthday.  But then he asks, "What are they like on the inside?"
"Pardon?"
"On the inside.  Are they cushy?  What's the insole like?  My mom has bad feet so she needs cushioned shoes."
"They're, uh, pretty comfortable."
"Do you think I could have a look at one?  I'd like to see the insole.  Just for a minute."
"Um, uh...well, uh...I guess so."
I find myself removing, very reluctantly, the coveted shoe.  He raises it appreciatively to his smiling face, rotates it slowly to better appreciate its form, closes his eyes, draws the shoe slightly closer to his nose, and then to my amazement, inhales deeply.  A look of ecstasy suffuses his flushed face.  His eyes open slowly, a film has softened the irises.  He is in another place, not of this world anymore.  The experience has transported him, transformed him, removed him from his mundane world to a different realm.
"Excuse me.  Excuse me!  Uh, could I have my shoe, please?"  My voice brings him back to the land of the living.
"Wha...oh, oh, yes.  Thank you," he chokes, almost throwing the shoe at me.  "I'm sure my mother would love them.  I hope they still carry them because they're exactly what she needs!"
I quickly force my foot inside and I'm out of there faster than you can say 'Blue Suede Shoes'!
Months go by.  The incident has receded from memory.  I need butter and milk. The supermarket.  Not the one I usually frequent, but close to my place of work. Butter! There it is.  
A presence....hovering over my shoulder.  I turn.  It's HIM!  My instinct is to flee.
"Hi!  Remember me?  I liked your shoes?  Well, I bought them for my girlfriend and she really loved them!"
"You bought them for your g..girlfriend?"
"Yeah, remember I told you she had bad feet?  Well, I bought her the same kind of shoes!"
"Oh, that's good.  Well, I have to go now.  I'm in a hurry.  Bye."
"Hey, before you go, those shoes you're wearing are really great!  What's the insole like?"


Saturday 20 April 2013

Exotic

Smaro's laugh started off deep and throaty, but crescendoed into a lovely high-pitched squeak. Both it and her smile were infectious.  How that woman loved to laugh!  Music was important to her too, and she would burst into song at the drop of a hat.  Her voice was a rich, full-toned contralto, and I was often regaled with her favourite Greek love song of the day.  Separated from her husband for many years, she worked long hours as a nurse to provide for her two children. 'Hard Work' was her middle name.

Those were lean days for me.  A stranger in a strange land, I had very little money, very few friends and on occasion, despaired.  If I was feeling at all low, the gloom would lift the moment I was engulfed in one of her great big bear-hugs.  She was wonderful to me and treated me like a daughter.  If I needed a bed, she gave me one; if I was hungry, she fed me.  Even though it was hard at times for her to make ends meet, she gave selflessly. And, oh the food she fed me....so different from what I was used to.  Chorta, pastitsio, dolmades...food as exotic to me as was Smaro.

One of my most vivid memories is of a day when I was invited by Smaro to come for lunch.  I walked into the dining-room and there in the middle of the table was a bony skull surrounded by potatoes.  "Ti einai afto?" (What is that?) I asked, cringing at the sight.  "It's the head of a sheep." she answered.  "What's the matter?  Don't you eat sheep brain in Canada?"  Bile rose in my throat.  "No!  We don't eat sheep brain in Canada and I can't eat it here, either!"  "Why," she asked, surprised, "It's delicious!"  "Thank you, but no thank you.  I can't eat that!  I can't even look at it," I gasped, almost gagging at the thought. She relented gracefully.  "Okay then.  Go into the kitchen and make yourself some eggs. You can eat in there."  I did as I was told, grateful to leave the abhorrent sight behind.  I quickly fried up a couple of eggs, sliced a tomato, grabbed a piece of bread and was sitting at the kitchen table just about to put some egg in my mouth when Smaro, ever-funny Smaro, spoke to me from the other room, her words putting an end to whatever appetite I had. "Oh, Arlene," she exclaimed in a laughter-filled voice, "This is so delicious. You really should come and have some.  Now, I'm eating an eye!"

Wednesday 16 January 2013

Pride Goeth Before a Fall!

I was feeling very proud of my knowledge of basic Greek...perhaps a bit too proud.  The fact that I'd been in that country a mere month and a half did nothing to dissuade me of the opinion that I really 'knew my stuff'!  I was looking forward to taking Shelley to the restaurant and showcasing my linguistic abilities. What is that old saying?  Oh yes, "Pride goeth before a fall." Poor me. I was about to become well-acquainted with that concept.

The restaurant was crowded, as usual. I'd been there several times before and had enjoyed not only the food, but the ambiance, as well.  It was a typical Greek restaurant. Its white walls were covered with pictures of the Parthenon, Mount Athos and the windmills of Mykonos.  Ocher vases and small Grecian figurines sat atop the turquoise shelves that lined the walls. The other-worldly sound of the Greek language and bouzouki music permeated the small space. The scent of garlic, mint, onion, basil and thyme was irresistible. The fact that the taverna was inexpensive was a bonus. We needed to make every drachma count since we planned to travel for a minimum of six months.  

It was common knowledge among tourists in Greece in those days, that when you entered a restaurant of that caliber, the first thing you did was ask the waiter if you could go into the kitchen. "Endaxei," (okay) was the usual response. Hence, we found ourselves behind the scenes, in the busy, noise-filled kouzina, checking out the fragrant contents of large, bubbling pots and pans atop the stove and counter-tops. Everything looked so good and smelled so heavenly, that it took us forever to choose.  Finally, having decided what we would eat, we headed to a table. 

The waiter approached with the requisite basket of bread and a small bowl of olives. "Ti thelete?" (What do you want?)  This was my moment to shine!  "Pay attention, Shelley," I thought.  "You're about to hear some impressive Greek now!" Oh, but I was so full of myself!  Smiling sweetly at the waiter, I said confidently and perhaps just a wee bit too loudly,"Theo copella, parakalo." Several people at tables around us started chuckling, their chuckles slowly turning into gales of laughter.  The waiter looked around the room trying to avoid my eyes. At last, not able to control himself, he joined in the merriment. I could feel my face flushing.  What had I said? Think, Arlene, think.  Theo copella...that means two chickens, doesn't it? Doesn't it?  I wracked my brain.  Copella...copella.  Oh, my gosh....it doesn't.  The word for chicken is kotopoulo...not copella. I should have said "Theo kotopoula"!  My heart sank, my humiliation complete.  Instead of ordering two chickens, yours truly had ordered two girls!