It's not like it's Plato's Olive Tree!

View from the dining room

There is this olive tree on my property that I've been threatening to cut down.

It stands right outside my dining room picture window.  I've said repeatedly to whomever would listen that it obstructs my view of the mountain and the yard that my boys will eventually play.  The only person on my side is Theo Yianni.

Τραβήξτε το από τις ρίζες του με το τρακτέρ που έχετε εδώ τώρα, έτσι ώστε δεν θα φυτρώσει ξανά. "Remove it by its roots," exclaims Theo Yianni,  "with the tractor that you have here now so that it won't shoot up again".  At first Peter Boufeas was horrified at the idea of cutting it down and shocked that I would even suggest it.  But now he just rolls his eyes and smiles every time I suggest such a thing.  Olive trees are like that.  They can get injured and look like they are near death, yet miraculously sprout new shoots and will even bear an olive or two in a short time.  They are like the mythical phoenix, they rise from the ashes. (yes, its very dramatic, lol)

Even with Boufeas' indignation, I found the opportunity recently to express my concern about the olive tree and its unfortunate spot on the property, with the foreman, Dimitri. 

He is a slender man, middle aged, with a bushy moustache and a solemn look.  Seems to me that he hadn't smiled in a while and who can blame him considering the current economic crisis he finds himself and his country in.  And it was yet another rainy, moody day on the mountain when Boufeas first introduced me to the foreman Dimitri, which didn't do much for anyone's disposition. 

Coffered ceiling sample

I began to ask him about the very decadent lux coffered ceiling that I'm considering having installed and of which he himself had done the sample.  His answers were short, to the point and unemotional.  Hmm.  I told him that I liked his mill work and that indeed it will add fine architectural details to the interior.  He nodded, thoughtfully.  Hmm.  I moved to the dining room picture window  and commented on how foreboding the mountain looked today, especially knowing that it was once an active volcano.  The foreman Dimirti, spins on his heel and looks at me with a raised eyebrow. 

He seemed pleasantly surprised with my knowledge of his town, little does he know that I excel at Trivial Pursuit, lol.  Quite satisfied with my ability to finally break the ice with the foreman, we actually chatted about the dormant volcano and our mutual affection for the Taygetos Mountain.  But it wasn't until I turned once again to the window and proclaimed, half jokingly, that I will indeed cut down this dreadful olive tree, that I got the most visceral of reactions!  

All I hear are gasps from the men that have accompanied me.  George Giannopoulos, mutters, "Apokliete", (No Way),  the Architect Dimitri, turns to Boufeas and quizzes with disgust, "what is she going to cut down?" Boufeas just breathes out and says, "here she goes again" and runs a hand across his forehead in exasperation.  A look of horror washes over the face of  the foreman Dimitri and challenges me rather aggressively, "You will do no such thing!" 

Plato's Olive Tree now lives in Verga, Kalamata

I proceed to tell the foreman the reasons for my disdain for this particular tree, but he begins to offer alternatives like, pruning it to make it less imposing.  Perhaps we can build a small rock wall around it as to encourage people to sit underneath it for shade, was another.  I could not be swayed.  I drove the point further by suggesting, with a chuckle,  that I will need firewood for my three fireplaces and this tree would be a good place to start.

"Look", the foreman pressed, "its one of the oldest trees you have on the property and it has the most olives on it too!  What does that say to you?  Doesn't that mean anything to you?  To cut an olive tree down is blasphemy."

Blasphemy.  How do you respond to a person who has just described the cutting of an olive tree as blasphemy?  I take a moment.  It's quiet as I contemplate the future of the tree and turn to the foreman and say with a great big smile, "Fcku, it's not like it's Plato's Olive Tree!"  Γαμώτο, δεν είναι ελιά του Πλάτωνα!

Hearty laughter echoed through my cavernous house.  The foreman Dimitri especially impressed and amused by my reference, responds with great joviality, "You never know, it could be!  It very well could be, Tzaki!"

Actually, no it really could not.  I've actually seen Plato's Olive Tree and it's not in Verga.  And the craziest part about me making that comment was that two months later, on Thursday January 17, 2013, the real Plato's Olive Tree was cut down...for firewood!  And part of me went with it.  Have you ever been on a pilgrimage? I have.

I was 14 years old when I caught partway through, an obscure BBC documentary with a very passionate white haired bearded man, talking about an unlikely landmark in the middle of a busy thoroughfare.  As he was dodging traffic, with horns blaring, he managed to cross the road and convey that he indeed is standing next to, wait for it....Plato's Olive Tree.  "Behold", he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

I was memorised.  What is this?  Where is he?  "I'm going", I said to myself and nothing was going to stop me.

I was 15 years old when I stood in the presence of this unremarkable and rather ordinary olive tree. What made it interesting to look at though wasn't just that it was thought to be more than 3,000 years old,  but that it had been nurtured back to life after being hit by a bus in 1976.  Which almost happened to me trying to find it!  At the time, its gnarled trunk had split into four pieces. From what I understand, the largest of these was taken to the Agricultural University of Athens, where it has been on display ever since.

Legend has it that the tree was part of the alleys that surrounded Plato’s Academy, and it was among the twelve olive trees that marked the twelve gated entries to the property. This part of Athens was later, and still is, named ‘Eleonas’ (olive grove) because of those ancient olive trees.  The Iera Odos (Sacred Way) lies on the ancient route between Athens and the town of Elefsina (Eleusis). The remains of Plato’s Academy lie near the tree, giving the area the name Akadimia Platonos.

Where the original Plato's Olive Tree once stood

And now nothing remains there, except for a big hole.  Local media reported that it was very likely uprooted and stolen to serve as firewood.  Hmm.  Fuel costs have sky rocketed and due to austerity measures the majority refuse to pay the increase and have resorted to heating their home with a wood-burning fireplace or stove.  It was calculated that the stolen part of the tree weighed more than 1,000 pounds, nevertheless it was removed without anyone taking notice.  Imagine that.

And it truly boggles my mind that Greeks would do such a thing, especially considering how revered and sacred the average, non-school of Athens, olive trees actually are to the majority of Greeks...and I do mean majority, not just my small cross section of natives!

I cried when I read the news report that the olive tree under which Plato is believed to have taught his students 2,400 years ago, is now gone.  And I bet I know someone else who cried too.  It is blasphemy, Dimitri the foreman was right. 

How can I ever even consider harming my "Plato's" olive tree?  That's its rightful name now.  I won't ever cut my olive tree down now, I could never ever! Αποκλειεται! Apokliete! 

My Olive Grove, all trees intact and lovingly maintained!

.


 

Home is where the House is?

I never doubted for a moment that I am Canadian.  And being a Canadian  often means having a duality of the kind that Trudeau spoke of so passionately; Pierre Elliot, that is.  Not his son, the long haired boho Justin, who by the way, is vying for the Federal Liberal leadership.  While he may have a great head of hair and a face that reminds me of Alexander the Great, he is wet behind the ears and when he speaks I cringe with transferred embarrassment. lol. 

Trudeau spoke of a multicultural society that benefits from each others diversity, not trying to assimilate or create a melting pot. My parents were indeed part of Trudeau-mania.  And their children are definite personifications of the all Canadian dream.  Maintaining a double identity to their benefit not detriment. 

Storm clouds breaking over Verga House

And yet as I write this from Kalamata, I feel out of sorts.  Never have I ever felt out of place, but this past week surprised me.   I have never felt more disappointed and heartbroken and bewildered and cold and displaced.  For the first time I feel "off" here. Only when I'm at my Greek House do I feel connected. I visit it everyday.  Sentimental, maybe.  Confused about the rest of the week and how it will unfold, undoubtedly. 

Perhaps its the rain.  Fine weather for young ducks.  Down pour every day, with thunder and lightening that lights up the sky so brilliantly and a cold that chills the bone.  I quite enjoy the dry cold Canadian winters, but there is nothing worse than a wet cold.  Nothing that a hot toddy like a tsipouro with honey and clove can't remedy.

I am without a permanent address in Toronto, having sold the Unionville house last November. Don't know where I'll land or what place I'll call home, but I guess home is where the house is?

A fully Plastered house

And the Greek house, quite ironically, is all I've got.  It's come a long way, but still has many problem details that need to get resolved.  Acquiring the needed 700m2 is still an issue and the back and forth with the surrounding land owners have left my friends, mihanikos/engineer Peter Boufeas and mihanikos/engineer George Giannopoulos (I affectionately call him GG)  bored and restless with the situation.   I, on the other hand, don't mind the waiting game, especially since the deadline for the zoning penalty/fines keeps getting pushed back.

Meanwhile, the majority of the funds have been devoted thus far, to the grading and drainage of the property.   Both very important, but seemingly endless and I've grown bored and restless with this money pit.  My head is still spinning over the cost of the topsoil!  At which point I threatened Boufeas that I'd bring in the soil myself with a wheel barrel...he wasn't too impressed, but leery that I may actually follow through. lol.  The house itself is stunning now and the property is without question, unrecognizable with its gorgeous terraced walls.

Hammer coming down on garage

The structural issues, like the garage and concrete pergola are being addressed.  I had to take down part of the garage because it just didn't make sense to leave it as is when a car could barely get in and the door would have been on the inside rather than the outside.  Sigh.  Exhausting really trying to correct mistakes of the previous mihanikos/engineer Voldemort.  And even though the entire house, inside and out, has been plastered, the concrete pergola continues to be an eyesore...and now the engineers are telling me to add more of it because it isn't symmetrical.  Hmm...



plastered pergola, watching the sunset

I wish I could physically hug my Greek House.   I want to wrap my arms around it and feel it hug me back.  I lean against one of its large columns as I watch the sunset over the Messinian Bay and think of how this Canadian finds herself at this spot, at this moment, at her house.  Her house...on a Greek hillside.

I Almost Forgot

Leave it to Google to remind me of my youthful influences.  Just seeing the pictorial tribute to Odysseus Elytis with the Olive Tree, a Vineyard and a Boat, had me inhale sharply and made my heart race.  A wash of Theodorakis music played in my head and nostalgia created a lump in my throat.  Who else can do this, but a poet!

A few loose pages of poems tucked in between an old tattered book, travelled across the Atlantic in my mum's book bag.  Eventually, "Sun The First Together With Variations on A Sunbeam" (Ηλιος ο πρώτος, παραλλαγές πάνω σε μιαν αχτίδα, 1943) found its way on top of the old HiFi turntable console, a place of honour, next to Robert Frost.  Poetry resonates deeply with Greek people and my parents were often walking testaments to this.  He wasn't just any poet.  He won the 1979 Nobel Prize in Literature.   

As I grew older I appreciated his poetry even more once it was put to music, of course,  by legendary Mikis Theodorakis.  "Axion Esti-It Is Worthy" became an anthem of sorts to the modern Greek of 1964 and beyond.  My dad, even though he wasn't very modern, connected some how to Elytis words. And through the wicked combination of Elytis and Theodorakis I also found a connection... with my dad.  

I almost forgot.

He'd pop the tape in the car and we'd listen to the music during the morning weekend drive to open the restaurant.  He'd ask, "do you understand what he is saying here, Tzaki?" If I didn't understand he'd stop the tape and try to translate the word, the meaning.  And dad was spot on, with the meaning of Elytis.  Dad said that he is speaking to 'us', not the ancients or about the ancients, but to me and you. 

And indeed Elytis, "Unlike others, he did not turn back to Ancient Greece or Byzantium but devoted himself exclusively to today's Hellenism, of which he attempted - in a certain way based on psychical and sentimental aspects - to build up the mythology and the institutions. His main endeavour has been to rid his people's conscience from remorses unjustifiable, to complement natural elements through ethical powers, to achieve the highest possible transparency in expression and to finally succeed in approaching the mystery of light, "the metaphysic of the sun" - according to his own definition."



Look its plastered!

Psychical and sentimental indeed describes Elytis work and aspects of my father that I've never considered.  And perhaps it also describes me and my Greek house.   (Which has progressed considerably and I must update you on!)

And today's modern Greek has forgotten the wave of positive influences that Elytis had on the attitude and worth of self.  It's 101 years from his birth, holding a book, poems in flight and Google has shown Odysseus Elytis in his quintessential sailor's hat with the Olive Tree, a cluster of grapes and the Boat.  Why?

Because Elytis had once said, "If you deconstruct Greece, at the end you will see that you are left with an olive tree, a vineyard and a boat. Which means that you can rebuild it,"   Wow, his words just jump off the page considering the climate and chaos that Greece finds itself.  Thanks for reminding us Google.

And my mum's book of poetry has lost its cover.  It has yellowed and its tips have turned in; it is well thumbed.  It now sits proudly on my office shelf along with Frost, Tennyson, Noyes (nothing beats The Highwayman) and a full collection of Dr Seuss.

 

Excuse me, how much for this Rock?

I prefer the kind I can put on my finger, but how much would you say this rock is worth?  It comes with about 150 m2 of land and two olive trees.  It's on the border of my property and at the corner of the driveway entrance to my house.  It would be nice to have, to shore up my acreage and square off my property.  But the present owner is a tragic figure.

When the road was opened up, on the hillside of Verga, it cut through his, or rather his wife's property, it was her preeka προικα(dowry).  Yes, I know, totally archaic but still in play in parts of Greece and central Europe.  Anyway,  this rock (vrahos, Βράχος) and its postage stamp parcel of land, is a remnant of the cut road and quite worthless to him/her.  We attempted negotiation twice with him and while he is open to talking he keeps stalling and saying that he can't make a decision without his wife.  Like I said, tragic. 

He is a tall, thin, wiry man, late forties is my guess with a vacant expression.  Dark matte hair with eyes to match.  We made arrangements to meet in the evening in Kalamata at George Giannopoulos' office, a civil engineer who is also working on my house.  Giannopoulos and Boufeas have an interesting relationship, one best described as "good cop, bad cop".  And its fun to watch.  More on that later.

George Giannopoulos' office was busy that evening.  Phones were ringing and meetings being conducted in the front room. So when this wraith of man entered the office and took a seat next to Giannopoulos, who uncharacteristically was having a rather animated discussion on the phone, Boufeas and I wondered if this was who we were waiting for.  We had only ever spoken on the phone.

He sat there, gaunt, hunched over with his hands clasped.  I thought the polite thing to do was wait for GG to finish his phone call, but Boufeas launched into introductions and didn't mince words.  Classic.  "Are you Mr P?"  Yes.  "Where is your wife?"  (Or did I ask him that?  I can't remember, it happened so fast).  "She has a late shift at the supermarket", was his reply.  "When does she finish so that we can have a resolution tonight", insisted Boufeas.  Mr P just shrugged his shoulders and collapsed them in even further, I guess realizing that he is no match for Boufeas.  I kinda felt bad for him. 

Sensing a weaker opponent, Boufeas, in a reclined and relaxed position in the office swivel chair, presses Mr P gently on the price tag of the rock.  I had turned my attention to GG because he looked up at me and was communicating to me with hand gestures that he can't seem to get off the phone.  It was then that out of the corner of my eye I see Boufeas lunge forward, toward Mr P,  swivel chair crashing in the opposite direction. "Excuse me, how much for this rock?!" Πώς τολμούν να έρχεστε εδώ με αυτό το γελοίο ποσό. Είστε δεν ντρέπεται για τον εαυτό σας; Δεν είμαστε ανόητοι! Βγες έξω, πριν σας πετάξει έξω! " "How dare you come in here with that ridiculous figure.  Are you not ashamed of yourself?  We are not fools!  Get out, before I throw you out!"

We are all standing at this point, except for GG who has the phone pressed to one ear and the other plugged with a finger, and Boufeas has escorted Mr P to the threshold of the office door. 

Well, that went well.  At least it was quick. Not so fast.... Mr P comes back into the office with new found confidence and a rebuttal on the worth of the rock!  'It's a rock with two olive trees', Peter Boufeas exclaims to the staff and clients in the front room.  'Now, get out before I really loose it!"  Boufeas leaves me and Mr P in the front room... awkward!   He raises his head and turns to look at me.  His eyes narrowed and he squared his shoulders, as if to make one final demand, but I wouldn't let him.  I was surrounded by men and I wasn't going to be the one they called a girl.  So just as he was about to launch in on me, I said, "Mr P, I will give you your 8,500...in drachmas.  Make sure you tell your wife."  Ouch.  With his mouth agap, he turned and left the office in silence.

And the best line of the evening was when GG finally got off the phone with the client and looks at the two of us and asks, "Did it really have to result it that, honestly you guys." Ελλα, ρε παιδια.

Mr P actually wanted 8.5k euros, when originally, 2 days prior, he requested through Peter and George, 5k and I was prepared to offer him half. 

"So where are we going to tonight?"  I asked.  "We all need a drink and something to eat."  Which is something we did almost every night that week.  We have become an unlikely trio and I have been pleasantly surprised by my great fortune to find myself surrounded by these bright men, who have become my friends.

And as I walk (more like run)  the streets of Kalamata flanked by them, their steps and strides three times as long and quick as mine, in search of our next watering hole, my faith in the human spirit is restored. My father wasn't that lucky.  

Technically, House Building is not an Olympic Sport

I am indeed an Olympic junkie.  Short of wearing my 1988 Olympic Torch Relay track suit while watching the London 2012 Games, I'm pretty much dead gone.  Yes, that's right.  I carried the Torch for the Calgary 1988 Winter Games.  That was my shot at Olympic glory, a tenuous one at best, but it was my moment. 

I carried it for 2km through Orangeville Ontario on a cold winters night. The best time to carry it because the flame stretched and trailed out behind me in full glory. It was the one of the best, most memorable moments of my life.  For this torch relay they really wanted you to train, because unlike the torches they carried in London, Beijing and Vancouver, this was authentic.  Solid wood handle with a metal cauldron.  Engineers came up with a supposed lightweight design but it still weighed 3.3 lbs, plus fuel.  Sure, it was a challenge and I was ablaze with Olympic spirit, but I wasn't competing and putting myself out there to be scored and judged; I didn't win any medals.

And the motley Greek Olympic Team that led the parade of nations during the opening ceremonies at the London games this week may not win any medals either, but by writing a brilliant letter, a young Marios Chatzidimou does.  He wins gold for Greece.

He took the Gold Medal in the UPU’s 41st International Letter-Writing Competition for Young People. The 2012 edition asked young people to write a letter to an athlete or sports personality they admire to tell them what the Olympic Games mean to them.  Talk about ablaze with Olympic Spirit, he puts all of us to shame; out of the mouth of babes, as they say.

Chatzidimou, who is 14 years old, writes to his hero, the tennis player, Roger Federer and places him in ancient Olympia alongside athletes such as Diagoras of Rhodes and Polidamas where he creates a dialogue with him. “Participation, entering the contest, is already a great victory, regardless of the trophy. A victory against fears, insecurity and difficulties, of yourself, against your own vanity and selfishness.” That’s how young Chatzidimou has Federer describe the Olympic values to him. Chatzidimou criticizes the sometimes absence of fair play and the use of drugs in modern-day competitions, adding: “But for me the first Olympic Games mean neither anabolic steroids nor championship, nor financial benefits, economic crisis nor hate. They do mean joy for participating, fair play, friendship, peace and, I hope, this meaning will apply to this year’s Olympic Games.”

The UPU jury complimented his simple and creative writing style. “The composition is original, very personal and stylistically creative. The modern and historic Olympic values come out very strongly,” it said.

What does all this have to do with building a house on the side of a mountain, you are probably wondering.  Nothing and everything!  True, plastering walls, stone-cutting, and carpentry are not Olympic sports.  But young Chatzidimou's heart felt letter about values and ideals wasn't just intended for aspiring sport Olympians. 

Technically, house building is not an Olympic sport, but every metre of rock wall erected, every ton of earth moved at my house in Verga, represents a considerable challenge, especially under an inhospitable August sun. Building a house requires participants, just like a track or gymnastics team; individuals willing to put aside vanity, selfishness and personal difference to work as one. Building a house requires participants willing to engage in fair play.  No job or role is insignificant, each citizen of Greece is an indispensable member of an enormous relay team. That's how medals are won, that's how houses are built, that's how nation's overcome adversity and thrive. 

I say let the young Marios Chatzidimou have a true Olympic moment and allow him to lead the Greek Team in the closing ceremonies of the London 2012 Games, carrying the Greek Flag.  What better time than an Olympic year for Chatzidimou to remind the world and the Greek citizens themselves, that Greeks are indeed an exceptional, resilient and hardworking people.  That the Olympic triadic of Higher, Faster and Stronger should be replaced with his words, Fair Play, Friendship and Peace.  These are the Hellenic ideals that should be emblazoned across the heart of every house and home in Greece. 

I had my Olympic moment and now I sit and watch and scream and cheer while CTV's Brian Williams delivers the best Olympic coverage in the world, thank you my friend!  And as I rally for every fabulous Canadian, British and Greek awesome moment of these summer games, I can't help but think, does my 1988 Olympic Torch Relay track suit still fit me?

The Reluctant Employer PART 2

The Elections have come and gone for the second time and the country did not implode.  What has happened, is that people have become more desperate.  Uncertainty is palpable and relationships are being challenged.

My house in Verga is the perfect example.  The foreman (εργοδηγός, ergotheegos) that Boufeas had hired and has been with his company for some time now, has caused difficulty on the site.  Once a loyal employee and the 'go to guy' for Boufeas for these types of jobs, had become the enemy and not to be trusted.

The foreman (εργοδηγός) raised decent amongst the crew.  Informing Boufeas that certain works were more difficult than anticipated and that indeed more time and effort would be needed.  The foreman had Boufeas' head spinning and driving the long route of Athens to Kalamata on a regular basis.  Upon further investigation, Boufeas uncovered that the crew was just playing along with the foreman hoping that it would pay out and that "The Canadian" would cough up more cash.  Boufeas, in classic form and without hesitation, fired the lot of them.  What can I say?  He did exactly what was necessary.  There comes a point where attempting to understand, being sympathetic, negotiating and bargaining ceases.  Full stop.  Off with their heads...he showed no mercy.

My house with Scaffodling

And why should he?  Yes, these are tough, uncertain times and Greece's jobless rate scaled a new record high in April, providing gloomy news for the new hard-pressed coalition government that emerged from the country's rerun election in June. But if you have a competitive paying job, like the kind at my house construction, then why risk it with poor attempts of blackmail?

My father would have loved this drama.  He would have loved to have been part of the take down of these so called skilled workers, that deserve χαραγμα και αλατι (haragma kai alati), filleting and salting, lol.

Dad detested lazy people and especially Greek lazy people because he just couldn't relate.   His first job when he came to Canada was picking worms at night with a miners lamp for .50cents a can.  He stayed in an apartment that he couldn't stand up straight in, for crying out loud. That work ethic left Greece on the maiden and subsequent voyages of Queen Frederica and Nea Ellas, that brought 100 thousand Greeks to pier 21 in Halifax, Nova Scotia during the mid to late 1950's and early 1960's, otherwise known as "The Gateway of Hope". Pier 21 Halifax, Nova Scotia Canada.

The Parthenon with Scaffolding

I can't relate either.  Lazy is a four letter word in the Sakellaropoulos family.  In fact laziness is a foreign concept with the Greeks of North America.  Maybe the only thing to save Greece is to bring that work ethic back?  Naive on some level perhaps, but the problem, wether it be work ethics or morality, has certainly mushroomed into a deeper more systemic and institutionalized force.

Ireland, which has been undergoing a similar economic crisis has been experimenting with various concepts and programmes to encourage ex-pats to return to the homeland, Ireland Diaspora Return .  Something for Greece to think about.   In the meantime, here is something the new coalition government should implement that would have an immediate impact in reshaping the country, or at least reshaping Parliament...allow the Greek diaspora to vote! lol.  That would certainly piss off and send a clear message to today's Greek citizens.  Imagine that.

If the Greeks of Sydney, NYC, Chicago, Cape Town and Toronto were allowed to vote in the next Greek election they'd clean house and never allow the fascists to dishonour Parliament with their presence.


Back in Verga, Boufeas cleaned house, literally.   And from what I understand he finally had a good nights sleep. 

The Reluctant Employer

Stone wall in front of house

All the smart money has left Greece. I'm the only idiot doing the opposite.
My obsession to complete this house is now full blown and unstoppable; not unlike the downward spiral of the country.

Greece is in chaos; no government,  neo nazis in parliament, the extreme left barking marching orders, the sceptre of the drachma looming, the increase of unemployment, an abyssal debt,  plans for more austerity, progression of suicides, increase in poverty and now even locusts have descended on parts of Greece. Is there a pox on the Greek Oikos? Its sure seems like it is, in biblical proportions, but not on my Greek House.

Two new chimneys

Somewhere in my youth and childhood, I must have done something good, because the winds of discontent have not reached my little spot in Verga. Its like an oasis, in the massive desert of a country on the verge of a default. Verga is busy with bulldozers, brick layers, stone workers, plumbers and electricians. If you were to observe my house on a daily bases, you'd never suspect that just outside of its borders people are stricken with fear.

Electrical

A friend pointed out to me that I am an employer of sorts and that I'm doing a good thing.  Really?  I never thought of it that way and when I think of my role as an employer, I am uneasy.  I am bankrolling this venture, that's for sure, but I never thought beyond that.  Who are the men that work on my house?  Do they have families?  Are they sending money to their children to go to school?  Are they even Greek citizens?  Will they be in my employ right to the finish line?  And are they relying solely on what I pay them?  All very good questions for Peter Boufeas, the mihanikos.  But do I really want to know the answers?  That's a lot of pressure for this reluctant employer.

Nevertheless, Boufeas, seems content with his crew and the progression of the house.  The work did get interrupted over Pascha (Easter) and Proto Maya (May Day) and the Ekloges (elections) on May 6th, but Boufeas rules with an iron fist and was able to snap them out of their stupor and push forward to meet certain deadlines.  And as a result, the house is truly taking shape.  Delightful really to see that the crew are meeting Boufeas' standards and that despite the troubling times and uncertainty that surrounds them, they choose to put their skills to work rather than stay home and despair. I guess I am doing a good thing.

A third chimney. Decadent!

And as the second round of elections approaches, or possible referendum, on June 17th and the 8th and subsequent plagues descend on Greece, this 'employer' will pray that her Greek House continues to be passed over.