Reasons 2 and 3

I am still uncertain, unclear, about what the number one reason is for this journey that I'm on. Why has this house become so important to me, as my friend Peggy asks. Maybe I'll figure it out once the house is complete, in a years time.



Tired boys at the end of the Parade

However, I have discovered reasons 2 and 3 for building this house. Their names are Zachary Stavros (blue) and North Apostolos (red), my boys. Now I'm about to start gushing, so bear with me...they are the smartest, most charming, talented, polite and well spoken gentlemen. Phew. I would do anything for them and if I can give them this house, a real physical, tangible connection to their heritage, then maybe they will usurp the first reason, if I can ever find it.  Anyway, you know I've never carried a picture of them in my wallet?  This is a first for me!

I adore and love and show great affection to my twin boys, but I've never been that kind of mum that gushes about her children. Nor am I the kind of person who likes to hear about other peoples children and their milestone achievements, unless they are very close friends and family, and then I welcome it and treasure it.  I try my utmost to never compare my kids to other peoples kids because I think it sets them up for resentment.  It's my job to always make them feel strong enough to a least try something new and do something different, without fear of failure.  The words "can't" and "never" are forbidden and replaced with "lets give it a go" and "lets have a laugh".

My family life has always been private and people often wonder why I don't mention the husband and kids more often.  Because they are precious and delicate (the husband is not delicate, he is red-blooded and resolute) and should never be opened up to potential harm. And also because I fear the label "soccer mom", the kiss of death in Canada. Greece has their version of the "soccer mom" too, only they are better dressed; Gucci from head to toe, but "soccer moms" nonetheless. lol.  My life may seem like an open book, but certain chapters are sealed in a vault, protected. 

The play backdrop at their School

But I just can't stand it anymore!  I must show you my little men.  Especially in celebration of Greek Independence Day.
ΖΗΤΩ η 25η Μαρτίου, 1821
"Freedom or Death".  Or my version, "Die on your feet, or Live on your knees".  Perhaps this is something today's Greeks need to print and put on a t-shirt.


Evzones (Presidential Guards) in training

March 25, 1821. A brief History

North recites in Greek, the most famous poem ever by Rigas Feraios.

Here is the English Translation:

For how long, o brave young men, shall we live in fastnesses,

Alone, like lions, on the ridges in the mountains?

Shall we dwell in caves, looking out on branches,

Fleeing from the world on account of bitter serfdom?

Abandoning brothers, sisters, parents, homeland

Friends, children, and all of our kin?

Better one hour of free life,

Than forty years of slavery and prison

Greek Porn



My very sexy view for the top floor balcony. Goosebumps!

Pornography (πορνογραφία pornographia)
 
Well, it certainly is for me! lol.  Made you look, didn't I. 
Yes, I am a little cheeky and anyone who is on the receiving end  of my wickedness  knows that my ultimate goal is extreme laughter.

I stay at the Ledra Marriott when I'm in Athens.  And they have a great main restaurant, Zephyros, they serve oatmeal and maple syrup, my power breakfast.  Anyway, the restaurant is on the second floor and looks out onto the main road, Syngrou.  Its a busy thoroughfare and not a great view from the restaurants picture window's, but at night the street lights up with neon flashing bulbs spelling "Porn" and is a delight for the eyes of the lonely business men for sure.  At dinner time I've noticed the single male diners chose the tables tuck up against the large windows at Zephyros to watch the coming and going of people from this burlesque shop, this den of iniquity. lol.

Actually, Greeks (Europeans), aren't as uptight about pornography as North Americans, for sure.  Of course we all know there is "good porn" and "bad porn" and the good porn isn't so bad. lol. I've seen my share having worked on a comedy show and I kept getting DVD screeners from Digital Playground.  Every time I got mail, the men from the writers room would come over and I'd pass out the porn DVD's like crack.  Good Times!

Enjoy the peep show!

All pictures are courtesy of Dick Turpin.

Very Romantic Spring Time

Its foreplay, is it not?

There is something to be said about men and machines.

Basement rec/playroom

Basement, garage.

Main floor living room looking south

Front of house, garage below

.

Luke, I am your Father

It seems that I've touched a sore spot with one of my readers.

A comment was posted, anonymously, that "your blog would be interesting if only you'd stop taking cheap shots at your father."  Really? Cheap shots?  Never.

If you don't want the truth, then turn on reality TV.  The truth always makes people uncomfortable.  In fact, it makes me uncomfortable to reveal some of the things I've written, to be honest.  Actually, you'd be surprised at how much I want to say and don't, just out of respect.

My father and I came to understand and respect each other during his end, and if you would just take a moment to read beyond the written word, you'd understand that I am doing my very best to honour him.

You know what?   This is my life and you're welcome to it, just don't beat me up for trying to tell it.

All Saints Greek Orthodox Church my father built for my mother, honouring her parents on the Property know as St Nicholas, on the Taygetos Mountain

Not My Kind of Boys Club

You know, you'd think I'd be used to the yelling and the posturing of Greek men, because I grew up with three of them. My brothers are great accomplished men but when we all lived together with dad, we had to protect ourselves; he was a bully. And I certainly was no shrinking violet. I got right in there and battled with the best of them.

My training in the trenches, with General Ghangis Khan (that's what I called dad, inside voice only) would later serve me well in my media career. When I was paired up with two male broadcasters known for their "high maintenance" status, I managed them well and with great success. It garnered me a badge of honour among my peers and secured my position in the boys club.

So knowing that I can certainly hold my own with the opposite sex, and with the attitude of  'been there, done that', 'got the war wounds to prove it', I got set to do  battle once again with the old guard in Kalamata. I was in Greece for 10 days, this past February, a limited time for sure because of a deadline that needed my attention. The illegalities of the house needed to be rectified or declared, by the end of the month, or thus pay a fine. It had been decided that I would attempt to purchase some land adjacent to mine to shore up my acreage and thus bypass the penalty that would ensue. But something far more interesting developed.


Sunny Athens, Courtesy of Peter Boufeas

My father's younger brother, an American from NJ, and his wife, had decided to visit their daughter in Athens who had just had twin boys. The timing was perfect, so I had asked them to join me for a couple of days in Kalamata to chat with PI about the situation with the house. The thought was, that if I had some American muscle accompany me to the meeting with PI the original builder/engineer mihanikos (μηχανικος) , that this time he would acquiesce.

I secured an evening appointment with PI and chose not to disclose that I had family in tow.  PI is a tall man, robust, fair skinned with a bristly face.  Non threatening actually, as he sat slouched  behind his desk.  As I lead my entourage into his office, his eyes widen with surprise, especially when he sees my Uncle, his cousin, my father's brother, standing there.

We opened with the obvious pleasantries, but once we launched into the details of the house, he was aggressive and defencive.  We were not prepared at all!  PI had rebuttals for every question, statement  and possible solutions that we offered. In fact, he was steadfast and insistent that there are no obstacles or illegalities with the house and nothing holding back the completion of the house.  What is he talking about? What am I missing here?  He even went so far as to boldly say that we didn't even require a building permit.  That to me was so insulting to my intelligence, that if I had a firmer grasp of the Greek language, I would have ripped him a new one and the whole town of Kalamata would have heard me.  Alas, I suffer from GSL (Greek as a Second Language) and  besides, the Oxford Greek English Dictionary that I toted around was not exactly the source for the words that I was looking for.  In fact, is there such a phrase book?  Let me know.

I left the meeting feeling defeated, confused and in desperate need of an ice cold grey goose martini. Actually, I wouldn't mind one right now.  It was very late and I left my laptop back at my Theo's (Uncle θείο ), house, so I found my way to an Internet Cafe along the paralia (παραλια beach). It was horrid, smokey, full of testosterone and smelled of sweat.  The men stared with disbelief that I dare enter the boys club, but I didn't care, I needed to communicate with Peter Boufeas my builder/engineer mihanikos (μηχανικος).  I took the opportunity to then pour over all the emails that Boufeas had sent me regarding the illegalities of the house and then I suddenly realized what PI was really telling me that evening; hire him back to finish the house.

Boufeas  (http://www.naquatec.gr/), received my SOS email and came down willingly, without complaint (at least not to me) from Athens to Kalamata the next day, a three hour drive.   I set up a another meeting with PI for that evening and this time Boufeas was coming with me.  

We were like a small army, five in total. The Americans, myself, Mr. Parthenios and Peter Boufeas.  We marched right into PI office with great determination and let's just say, Boufeas went all 'gangsta' on him.   As their voices grew louder and their body language shifted to attack mode, I would cringe and look away from the scene unfolding. Soon, the verbal attacks grew more personal. First, performing a character assassination on my father postmortem and then on each others status as professional engineers. Geez, talk about a boys club.  I sat there beside Peter and all I could do was watch him fight for me.   Demanding that PI own up to the issues with the house and property and help rectify the situation, so that I may continue to build the house legally, with Boufeas as the new mihanikos. 


I tried to sit still, but I started to have a physical reaction to the verbal blows, so I actually had to get up and leave the room, briefly...a real first for me.  Can you believe it?   See, I've been absent from that war room scene for some time now,  I married an Englishman, and life is considerably less combative as a result.  Nevertheless, my husbands pet name for me  is "little fists", as opposed to, "oh, my delicate little orchid."  I realized right there and then, that I'm like a war veteran who has seen so much action that when a car backfires they duck and cover because they think its a bomb going off. LOL.

The best thing I've ever seen.

When I returned to the room, the melee was over.  PI looked drained and was slumped back in his chair like one of Muhammad Ali's sparring partners, battered, bloodied and hanging onto the corner ropes.  Boufeas then informed me that PI had finally conceded that my house was indeed illegal, that he ultimately was responsible and was now willing to help rectify the situation.  I was gobsmacked, to use one of Boufeas' English expressions.  I was gone for five minutes and the issue was resolved?  Boufeas, flushed, looked snidely in the direction of his vanquished opponent who sat in a crumpled, sweaty, embarrassed heap behind his desk.  Boufeas looked at me and smiled.  'My work here is done,' he said, and made a hasty and triumphant exit out the door.  I didn't need American muscle, I thought to myself, I have Superman.

So this is not my kind of boys club, it's dirty and hits below the belt and I honestly don't want any part of it.   And Boufeas clued in rather quickly, mercifully.  He knows it's personal for me and I'm angry and its raw. I'm content to be on the fringe during these types of confrontations and I'm sure Κυριε Boufeas, I mean Clark Kent, is too.

Where's the streetwise Hercules to fight the rising odds?

It has been a uphill battle, a true polemic for sure and it continues to be.  I'm having trouble securing the elusive 700sqm needed to round out my property to equal 4 acres (stremmata στρέμματα) and as a result I may end up paying a huge fine.  My fists are up and I'm ready to dodge and weave.  I'm not down for the count.

It would have been a lot worse, however, if I had never found Peter Boufeas, my engineer/builder (mihanikos μηχανικος).  Some would say that I played "Internet roulette" and lucked out that I didn't get the bullet in the head. But I don't gamble. I'm a risk taker, methodical and well researched, but not a gambler. You'll never find me pulling the handle on a slot machine, crossing my fingers and holding a plastic cup waiting for the coins to spill out. Moronic. You may find me however waiting in line at Caesars Palace with a martini to get tickets for the Cher concert.

His company, Naquatec S.A. (http://www.naquatec.gr/), was one of six that I had contacted 3 years ago. Dad died in April of that year and I made contact with Boufeas and the others in July.  I needed to fire the original  builder/mihanikos μηχανικος, known here only as PI, but I needed to find another first. 

Based on what my father revealed to me during his last few months, he did not trust PI anymore.  Actually, "trust" is the wrong word...dad didn't trust anyone.   More along the lines that PI did not have my father's best interests at heart.  From what I recall, the roof construction was the tipping point for dad, so he asked his brother Nikita, may his memory be eternal, for another builder.  Nikita found some one else to put the roof on at half the price. As a result of this, the relationship soured between PI and dad and thus the project lapsed.  If only dad really knew how bad the situation was with the house...but his instincts were correct.  So with that limited information, I trusted my father and ventured forth looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack; an honest builder in Greece.

Vetting the 6 builders was certainly a process of elimination and it wasn't necessarily what Boufeas said, but rather what the others did not say. They were vague and evasive and didn't take my enquires seriously.   While a couple of them did respond, it wasn't with eagerness or enthusiasm, but almost like I was bothering them.  Perhaps if I was male, they would have regarded the queries as legitimate.  I needed answers right away and I pressed one builder so hard with questions that he just gave up!  Peter Boufeas, confronted with the same series of questions, gave it as good as he got it.  Not only did he answer all my questions with specifics and details, he also offered to visit the property and meet with my Uncle (Theo θείο ), Mr. Parthenios.  Excellent.

Turns out that Boufeas is from the very same town, Kalamata and not only has he built houses in the region of Messinia, but also has done works for the town.  So I knew  he was connected.  Look, I interview people for a living.  And over my 12 years in the media business I've spoken to Prime Minister's, Police Chief's, movie stars, doctors, lawyers, horse whisperers, Mayors, authors, journalists, drug addicts, bank robbers, psychics and porn stars...I'm not afraid to talk to anyone. Besides, the cream always rises to the top. 

So, if you haven't heard me speak of him before, be prepared because he plays a significant role in the telling of this corrupt story. He is the protagonist, the leading man and if I had to cast a Hollywood actor to play his part for the making of this movie, it would be Hugh Grant. But not the self-deprecating introvert character that Grant often portrays.  Boufeas is half English, half Greek which automatically gives him an edgier vibe.  Uber confident, smart, bursting with flare and drama, a real man's man, yet has a refined coolness that reigns him in from time to time.

He is a good family man, preppy and slightly overly domesticated, and he can be paternalistic with me on occasion, which annoys me, but secretly welcomed...especially when negatives things have been said about my father.  He once said to me, early on, which surprised me, "Don't go into that meeting with that tone and body language. You'll get their back up and nothing will get accomplished." Damn, am I that antagonistic?  He is actually quite intuitive, for a man. 

Boufeas did a lot of the early leg work revealing the illegalities of the house and property on spec, which of course we all know was a shock to me and quite unbelievable.  And he offered solutions that were honest and forthright, not convoluted and deceptive.  And he continues to battle for me, which goes above and beyond his job description.  He is a real patriot and I think he sees himself as a warrior of sorts, a demi-god, fighting through all the negative branding that Greek people have endured, rightly or wrongly, and by default unfortunately, he is also lumped into.   

So in the immortal questions that  Bonnie Tyler begs the answers to, "Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods?  Where's the streetwise Hercules to fight the rising odds? "  He is right here ladies and gentlemen, Mr Peter Boufeas.

Sure, I'm paying a premium for Boufeas' full service business, I know that.  But he brings peace of mind knowing that he is operating an honourable company, above board and without a tainted history. 

He is a straight shooter and can roll with the corrupt red necks in Verga, because if it weren't for him, I may have broken a few.

Its a Good Start

Surprise!  Construction has finally begun on my house!  When my engineer/builder (mihanikos μηχανικος) Peter Boufeas, informed me on March 5th, 2012 that they had begun the earthworks measurements on the property, I needed to sit down.  I felt dizzy...with delight.

 I looked around to share my news with my family, but the twins were busy wrecking Yiayia's house and she was busy helping them.  Richard Syrett, ( http://www.richardsyrett.com/) my adoring husband, was in Chicago filming season three of his tv show (http://www.theconspiracyshow.com/ ) .  So I just sat there, and continued to read with great anticipation all the news that Peter had written. The title of his email report, "the Start".

We've had so many false starts over these past 2 years, that I just wanted to stop altogether.  First we learned that the house had illegal structures.  Then we found out that the property itself is illegal.  To build a house you need 4 acres (stremmata στρέμματα) and I was short 700 sqm.  There are so many bylaws and they change weekly, as well as taxes, and IKA and VAT and fines/penalties to pay,  that you feel completely unwelcome.  Don't they want my business?  This house had become a personification of my father; an energy vampire. It just sucked the life out of me.

The story of my house and its illegality is not uncommon or unheard of, I am not in a unique situation, unfortunately. I just find the timing poetic.

The house becoming legal and finally being tended to is almost a metaphor in itself for the entire country. Strange time to have actually started construction on my house.  Why now?  Why have the cosmic tumblers finally allowed us to have a breakthrough at this point in Greece's history?   Greece is at a critical turning point on all levels, not just economically. It needs social and cultural reform and buckets of bailout money can never remedy that.  (Watch Peter Economidis' lecture in English on "Rebranding Greece" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Chhn5oEmITs )

Conflicted.  An Evzonas crying.
The image says it all.

The corruption and deception runs deep through all levels of society; from the boys in parliament, Ceo's, restaurant owners and the builders whom you trusted because they were family.
My father  hired his cousin, PI (initials only), a builder/engineer a mihanikos (μηχανικος) along with his then wife VK, a notary (συμβολαιογράφος), to help purchase the land and then build the house. The notary in Greece are not like here in Canada, they are lawyers and VK's job is to draft binding, legal contracts of all kinds.  And in this case she drafted 5 binding legal contracts for the purchase of properties.  As it turns out, the contracts that I have claiming that I own 4 acres of land in Verga is a lie.   So too, are the bogus topographic schematics of my house, that are signed by PI, showing that it's legal on paper but not in actuality.

Well, this dynamic villainous duo continue to run the show in Verga and when I visited them in November 2011 to discuss my situation, they stood their ground. I had to visit PI on two occasions to retrieve documents for Peter, and PI couldn't even look me in the eye to talk with me, but insisted that he did nothing reprehensible.  VK on the other hand is a real pistol and said, and I quote, "What would you do in Canada?"  I replied, "hire a lawyer".  "What are you going to do, put the father of my children in jail?  Your father was in on it."  "Says you", I replied with such anger, that my 5 year old son Zachary hide behind my legs.  "He is dead", I continued,  "and I have contracts that tell me all is legal and to code." 

My father may have been aware of these incongruities, but then again he also suffered from a pre-frontal brain injury. He trusted these people to do the job and to get it done and he died telling me that the spiti (house) was good to go.  My father even went so far as to give his engineer/mihanikos power of attorney, to make the purchases, sign contracts and even have access to the bank account. What?  My father allowed who do to what with HIS money?  I once had a tug of war with my father over a $2 bill so that I could take the bus to school and the tips that I made working at my dad's restaurant, I had to put in the till! LOL.  My father trusted no one and as I said before, consulted with no one.  They saw that he was vulnerable and took advantage of him.  I discovered all of this while I was in Greece for the month of November.

It was a month of discovery, and it was emotionally charged.  I toured the inside of every government office, IKA office, laywers office, bank and notary office between Athens and Kalamata. You won't find that tour of Greece on anyone's wish list.  And Peter Boufeas was always the charming, upbeat, positive guide that walked me through this landmine tour.  As my mother said to him, "You are the best thing that happened here."

I travelled with my family, Richard, my twin boys Zachary and North and my mum.   I felt embarrassed and ashamed at certain points because Richard had never been to Greece and he was getting the raw under belly tour, instead of the first class tour that he deserves.  Wait until we visit the mountains, just wait until you experience the Taygetos, I kept telling him but he wasn't complaining really. Once we finally found a moment together we made it up the mountain and ate a late lunch at my favourite spot at Theotokos.  Everything seemed clearer and I could think clearly way up on the mountain top.  After a few hours of a leisurely lunch, lots of young wine and reunions with old friends that had popped in for a snack, Richard said, "I see what you mean about this place.  I could live and die here on the mountain."  Gotcha. 

My house looking out towards the Kalathi

As Greece goes through a reconstruction, so does my house and by extension all the people that are involved with it; the antagonists and the protagonists, the willing and the unwilling.  Its a good start.

Admittedly, at first I was unwilling. Unwilling to acknowledge that perhaps I do have a future in this breathtaking but tragic country.  And now I've come too far and sacrificed too much to turn back .  Just like Greece.

My Greece is the Taygetos Mountains

I feel like I need to explain my comments about Verga.  Today its a posh part of town, by virtue of its proximity to the beaches and soaring mountain views.  Its great real estate.  That unknown hillside that my house is on, is only unknown to me and likely loved by the locals.  It still looks to me like grazing fields for sheep and goats.  Certainly uninspiring and lacks in any historical significance.

The Taygetos Mountains

Now the Taygetos Mountains, well, you don't need a history lesson from me.  Whenever I drive thru them I recall ancient history, of course, but also history that is within reach of my relatives. My grandparents hiding in the mountain caves from the Nazis.  My mother, a very young girl, sleeping with a pistol under her pillow fearing the Italians will come and take her hens.  She hide out there for weeks in her stone kalivi (καλύβη), shack, on the property called St Nicholas.  See what I mean?  Important stuff here. Verga, not so much.  Kinda boring.

There is nothing boring however about my history with the Taygetos and experiencing something for the first time!  Your first time far away from home.  Your first time you shoot a rifle.  Your first time hitch hiking.  Your first kiss.  Your first attempt to skinny dip.  It's thrilling, exciting and ultimately you want to do it again! 

Driving the Taygetos

Well the first time I experienced the Taygetos Mountain, I was 9. Travelling with my family to Greece, for the first time.  I was asleep in the car my father bought, an old green Simca, that took more water than gas.  When we reached the village house, it was dark and they put me to bed.  I woke up the next morning in a strange house, that was cool and had a sweet smell.  I walked across the floor in my bare feet to the shutter doors that lead to a small balcony and when I opened and step out into the sunlight, I gasped.  Never in all of my  9 years have I ever seen anything so magnificent.  My first experience of being surrounded by mountains!  It was for me like being in a fairy tale. 

I took my breakfast in a tree that morning, chamomile tea and a hard boiled egg from the hens on the property.  I pretended I was a naritha (νεράιδα), a woodland fairy, that lived in the mountains.  My brothers thought I was ridiculous.  Especially when I cried at the suggestion of spending the day at the beach.  I just wanted to go for yet another hike and pick wild berries and torture mindiria, the native small lizard.  Please, their tails grow back.



The renovated, not restored village house

Oh I came out of my dream world eventually that summer.  My brothers and I had a grand time.  I learned to shoot a rifle and how to make a cicada a pet.  I tolerated the beaches in Kalamata because that's what you do in the summer on vacation, apparently.  The mountains and I, however, imprinted on each other over those three months.  And when it was time to go back to Toronto, my heart was broken.  My dad, to placate me, a rare moment, promised he'd send me back.

Looking for the stream

Well, dad did send me back, 6 years later, by myself.  Another first.  And when I took the local bus up the mountain to the village house it was like Christmas to me.  I got off the bus a stop early, at Artemisia and attempted to walk the rest of the way to Pyges.  Nothing had changed.  Except I was older, a young teenager, and I was schlepping luggage up a mountain!  I must have looked like an idiot tourist, actually I was an idiot tourist.   Luckily, a very friendly young man took pity on me and offered me a ride.  Danger.  No, only in Toronto.  Turns out he was an American Greek film maker and was heading to Pyges to visit an old family friend.  So I hitched a ride.  Another first.

His name was Anesti. (Remember him, Xanthipi? LOL.)  He was dreamy.  And well, he and I shared some fun moments.  What happens on the Taygetos stays on the Taygetos ;)

So 10 years ago or so, when dad said, that he was going to build a house in Verga, I was uninterested.  Kinda put off.  We have a house, the village house on the Mountain.  That is our spot, my spot!  Nothing can compare.  Nothing will ever compare.

This Verga house has some stiff competition. 

A Canadian House on a Greek Hillside

The killer view from the front of the house

I don't know what my father was thinking.

He never consulted with anyone. Did whatever came to his head and now left me with all this madness. I've decided to finish the house my father built about a decade ago. Its on a unknown hillside in the South of Greece, Kalamata, in the town of Verga.

Verga? Never heard of it before.
I may have driven thru it on my way to my beloved Taygetos, but why should I have stopped, EVER! I'm a mountain girl. Clean crisp air, cold mountain water that makes your skin and hair silky and in the dead heat of summer, only cool nights and no mosquitoes. Not to mention mountain views that take your breath-away.

The house from the back

Verga. Isn't that a switch from a tree that was once used on the back of the legs to reform naughty children? I know that kind of verga very well. LOL.

My dad died. He died on my birthday three years ago this April. People say it was his gift to me. Releasing his life on that day to set me free.  Nonsense.  It was his ultimate final emotional shackle and it took me by the throat.  Yes, he was that Machiavellian.  More on our tumultuous relationship later...and bring bottle of wine while reading, or better yet a very dirty martini.

The house has been sitting for a decade unfinished. Orphaned. I didn't even want to acknowledge its existence. I hated it. I know, hate is a strong word, but I truly had negative visceral reactions to it. Too much history and drama. It sits on a plum spot on a hill overlooking the awesome Messinian Bay, with about 100 olive trees (right Peter?), in parts unknown to me and really of which I have no business traipsing in. I had only ever seen pictures of it and heard comments from relatives. I saw it for the first time this November 2011.

He and his cohorts in Kalamata, built a Canadian House, with large walk-in closets and two kitchens and 5 bedrooms and erected walls that made no sense, obstructed views of the ocean, and ultimately I learned that entire structure was illegal.  Including the land that it was on.  Why was I not surprised.  Dad always had to make things difficult, otherwise I don't think he felt that it was important.  I on the other hand subscribe to Einstein or was it Aristotle who said, "Simplicity is the purest form of genius", or was that "the truest form of wisdom'? 

Genius or Jackass, Foolish or Wise, I'm pushing ahead and finishing this house.  It was important to him and you know what, its become important to me.