The Voice of the Turtle Is Heard in the Land

Four years ago on May 23, 2013, I published the blog post below, which is basically a love song to my New England village of Grafton.  It started with a photo of the mean giant snapping turtle who comes every year across the road from the lakeside to lay her eggs in our front yard.  

I didn't see her last year and yesterday I was saying, "I wonder if that turtle's still alive?" but just now I looked out of the second floor bedroom window and there she was in the driveway.  So I went outside to say hello and she glared back as always.  I know she'll be several hours out there digging a hole and then laying her eggs (very slowly!) and then we'll try to help her get back across the street safely.

Right now, exactly as I wrote four years ago, the irises and the clematis are in flower and the peonies are about to pop open and I've been photographing it all.  And just as I said then, I'm dreaming about being able to afford a tiny apartment in New York, so I can spend my declining years there. But every spring I start watching for this turtle and I realize there's no place I'd rather be than here in our 300-year-old house in Grafton.   

 
Song of Solomon 2:11-12 (KJV)
¹¹ For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;
¹² The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;

She came today, just as she does every year, crossing the road from the lake, digging a nest in our front yard and laying her eggs--the biggest,  meanest old snapping turtle you ever saw, but we always watch from a distance and make sure she makes it back across the road without becoming road kill.

And today the clematis started to pop open and so did the best of the irises.

Last week I was back in New York City. We dined at Swifty's and I walked through Central Park every day at the height of its blossoming and I tried to figure out how I could sell our country house in the Massachusetts village of Grafton and buy a tiny apartment in New York to spend our declining years, but then I got back home for last weekend and realized that Manhattan can't hold a candle to our New England village.

At the Common they were celebrating Grafton History Day--the 150th anniversary of a time when both the Town House and the Unitarian Church were burned down on Sept 11, 1862 as the Civil War was raging, and rebuilt in 1863.

Linda Casey, president of the Grafton Historical Society, greeted me in her daytime dress.  She had another gown for the ball that night.

There was a  Civil War muster and the Mass. 13th Volunteer Infantry Regiment was recreating an authentic Civil War encampment.

Ladies were buying plants on the common, no matter what the shape and size of their petticoats.

Next I went to the Plantapalooza at the Community Barn and Harvest Project where kids and adults were planting about a gazillion tomato plants as part of the community's volunteer farming for hunger relief (they give away everything they've grown) .  And everyone who came got free tomato plants. 

You could meet alpacas and go on the cookie walk & buy handmade crafts and local honey and jams.

And of course there were the yards sales on the weekend--I bought somebody's grandmother's collectible dolls for $2.00 each.  And the all the doll clothes for another $2.00.

Manhattan may be my favorite big city, but as Dorothy said, there's no place like home.

Forgotten Family Photos from 1983

 The other day, going through some files in my husband’s office, I came across these three photos that were taken by a People Magazine photographer early in 1983.  My first thought was “Were we ever that young?”  The second: “Was my hair ever that curly?” (Clearly that was a perm!)

 The photos were taken shortly after Nick’s book Eleni --about his mother’s life and death in 1948 during the Greek civil war-- was published and then sold to become a movie.  The film Eleni was released in 1985, starring Kate Nelligan as Eleni and John Malkovich as the adult Nick.  (Secret: you can watch it on Youtube for free.)

 People published a six-page article about the book and Nick’s attempts to find his mother’s killer. These three photos were never used in the magazine, which is probably why we have them.  They were taken right here in our house in Grafton, MA, which still looks much the same 34 years later, but we sure don’t.  In the photos son Christos is 11, and daughters Eleni and Marina are 8 and 5.  Nick is 43 and Joan is 42. 

 It was poignant but also exciting to rediscover those photos from so long ago, when the children were still small.  We had been living in a suburb of Athens, Greece from September of 1977, when Marina was only a few months old, because Nick was sent there by The New York Times to be a foreign correspondent.  We returned to the U.S. and our house in Grafton in 1982, a year before the book Eleni was published. 

After I discovered the photos, I dug out of the files the People magazine with the article.  The opening spread is above.  You can read the whole article on line here:  http://people.com/archive/a-sons-quest-for-revenge-vol-19-no-21/ but it doesn’t include any pictures.

At the same time I discovered the People photos, I came across two amazing shots of Nick on the job in Iran in 1977 when he was covering the Iranian revolution and almost became a hostage in the American embassy in Tehran.  But I’m saving those for a future post.

April Is the Coolest Month—for Nico

Here we are turning over the calendar page from May to June, but I belatedly have to report on grandson Nico’s adventures in April, which included his second birthday, as well as Easter and several egg hunts.

His birthday was on Sunday, April 2 in Manhattan.  The day before, Yiayia Joanie and Amalia made the cake, because the theme of the party was bunnies.  Amalia put on the letters  and eggs and helped with the shredded coconut dyed green.

And before the party both kids helped decorate the apartment, included sticking gel Easter bunnies on the windows. 

There was an egg hunt, egg decorating crafts, a photo booth,  bunny-shaped goodie bags and of course Happy Birthday sung to Nico by everyone. Amalia helped blow out the candles.

Four days later, on April 6, in honor of Greek Independence Day, Amalia recited a patriotic poem with her fellow Greek school classmates.  Nico did his best to get up to the front of the stage to share the spotlight, (but his Papi held him back.)

April 9 was Palm Sunday at Holy Trinity Cathedral in Manhattan. Amalia put on an Easter bonnet and carried a palm during the service

The next weekend, after Nico’s family drove to Papou Nick and Yiayia Joanie’s house for Easter, both Nico and Amalia came down with a 2-day flu bug and started throwing up. They recuperated by watching their favorite movie “Moana” on DVD about a million times.  They both know the words to all the songs and will perform them any time they can find an audience. Nico and his cousin Stone like to watch TV while sitting together in the Elmo chair.  

 

 By Saturday they all were well enough to attack the piñata at a small family birthday party for Nico and to visit some cows at a nearby farm.  Nico also had a good time feeding the fish in Yiayia’s fish pond as well as the Canadian geese, which he calls “ducks” in the lake across the street.

April 16 was Easter for Greek Orthodox and all other Christian faiths this year.  Nico and Amalia found that the Easter bunny had filled their baskets with goodies and left dozens of eggs to hunt inside the house.  Amalia was the lucky one who found the golden egg.

All went to St. Spyridon Cathedral in Worcester in the morning for the Agape service and then there was another egg hunt outside the church with hundreds of eggs.  Back home, Nico made a puzzle while the lamb finished cooking. The table was set with red eggs for  the egg-cracking war that starts the Easter meal.  Place cards were Easter cookies from Yummy Mummy Bakery with each person’s name on them.

Then it was back to New York and playing in Central Park where Nico’s favorite activity is chasing squirrels.  Once a week he goes there for the Brooklyn Forest School’s Manhattan group, where he makes mud soup, sings, goes on nature walks and eats homemade bread with butter (after washing his hands, of course.).  He usually comes back in line for more bread until it’s all gone.

Recently, on the way to the Forest School, Nico got to meet two horses.  They were introduced by their riders—two police ladies with guns. Nico even got to touch them.

On a weekend, Nico’s mommy took both kids to the New York Children’s Museum, where they got to sit on a camel and also to pretend that they were the President in the Oval Office.  Amalia’s thinking she might run for president some day, if she doesn’t become a surgeon or an artist.

One day when Amalia was out of school, they went on a bear hunt. Amalia wore her helmet for safety (and brought along her skates.) They found three bears next to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and climbed on.

All in all, Nico thinks that the month of April was awesome because it included his birthday and Easter, but he can’t wait to find out what adventures await him in June. 

  

A Princess Writes About “Eleni”, Milos Island and Life Coming Full Circle

Nick and I met HRH Princess Tatiana of Greece last summer at an event in Las Vegas where everyone was given her book “A Taste of Greece,” which is published in four languages and available in 72 countries, with all profits from the book going to charitable causes.  Born in Caracas, Venezuela, (née Tatiana Blatnik), the tall, glamorous blonde studied in Switzerland, got her BA from Georgetown, and in 2010 married HRH Prince Nikolaos, son of Greece’s former King Constantine, on the island of Spetses, Greece.  She is an entrepreneur and philanthropist, heading organizations that support women leaders around the world, provide food for impoverished children and teenage mothers, and aid to unaccompanied refugee children in Greece.

Just yesterday I saw a blog post on her official website www.tatianablatnik.com--a beautifully written essay about her introduction to Greece long ago through reading my husband’s book “Eleni” about his mother’s life and her death to save her children, and then, 14 years later, meeting our daughter, Eleni, her grandmother’s namesake.  I’m going to quote some of the princess’s essay here, but you can read it all and learn more about Tatiana and her good works by clicking on https://tatianablatnik.com/reflecting-on-milos/ 

Reflecting on Milos, Greece and life coming full circle

In 2003, when Nikolaos and I took our first trip to Greece together, he gave me a book called ELENI by Nick Gage. As we sat on the plane from London to Athens, I began reading it and found that I couldn’t put the book down! Through its pages, I not only learned so much about Greece’s recent history, but moreover I became emotionally involved with its main character, Eleni Gatzoyiannis, and my eyes filled with tears as I read her harrowing, true story…

Last year, this brave woman’s namesake, Eleni Gage, Nicholas’ daughter, asked if she could interview me for a piece she was writing for CondeNast Traveller on the enchanting Greek island of Milos. Naturally, I was more than happy to speak with her; Milos holds a special place in my heart because it is where Nikolaos and I went for our honeymoon. During this meeting with Eleni, she gave me a small thoughtful gift — a lovely, little St. Nicholas icon which I have since carried in my hand luggage whenever I travel.

Fast forward a year and there I was the other day, pulling my hand luggage behind me as Nikolaos and I walked through the airport — yet  again! — when I passed the newsstand and noticed the new issue of CondeNast Traveller, featuring Eleni’s cover story on Milos. Suddenly it hit me: life comes full circle and everything in it is interconnected.

“Isn’t it amazing?” I couldn’t help but remark to Nikolaos. For who would have imagined that 14 years after Nikolaos’ and my first trip to Greece, during which time I’d read Eleni Gatzoyiannis' story, I would be here today, a resident of the country she fought so hard for, having been interviewed by her granddaughter and carrying within my luggage the icon that she’d given me.

The Greek Island of Milos Has Been Discovered

Last summer on our family vacation to Greece,  daughter Eleni introduced us to the stunningly beautiful island of Milos, which she was researching for an article for Conde Nast Traveler.  Now it's out in the magazine's May issue: "Milos is the Untouched Greek Island You've Been Looking For", revealing all the little-known treasures of this island--incredible beaches (many only accessible from the water), wonderful restaurants, incredible views, new and picturesque villas and resorts.    

Her article inspired me to post some of the photos I took while we were there last summer.

In the photo above, Eleni, Emilio and grandkids Nicolas and Amalia are in the water at Sarakiniko Beach which, because of the white sandstone stone carved into a lunar landscape, looks like some otherworldly planet.

One of the places we stayed was a glass-sided villa at Skinopi Lodge, newly built by Nausika Georgiadou,who took us on a boat tour of the beaches which can only be reached by water.  Here is one of them,  where Eleni and family managed to swim through the cave in the distance and back to the boat.

I became photo crazy on one of our last nights on Milos when we went to the village of Klima, famous for its sunsets and the colorful wooden houses along the seaside called syrmata.

I took this photo because it has everything I love about Greece.  I've done note cards celebrating Greek windows and doors and Greek chairs  and it's all here, including the iconic Greek table.  Only thing missing, in my opinion, is a cat, but we found plenty of those down by the waterfront.

On the way down to the seashore, Amalia checked out the sound of the waves in this seashell.

The colorful syrmata, unique to Milos, are dwellings built by fishermen right on top of the garage for the fisherman's boat.

Now the syrmata are eagerly rented or bought by tourists, like these folks who are enjoying the view along with some hungry cats hoping for fish.

As the sign says, you have to be careful walking along the seaside by the syrmata.

Eleni, Emilio and Nico are about to take a stroll.  Note the octopus drying nearby.

These geese were checking things out.

And this cat was checking out the geese.

We saw this sign for the Panorama Restaurant....

So we joined Papou Nick and Amalia and a curious cat...

And watched the sun set over the island of Milos.

Revisiting Guilt About Motherhood and Princesses

 (I had forgotten that on this day, six years ago, I posted on the subject of guilt, motherhood and Kate Middleton's royal wedding which was the following day.  But my post was really a reprint of the essay daughter Eleni had written on her blog about these topics, plus Disney princesses.  I think it's one of her most brilliant and funny essays.  She wrote it four months before Amalia was born, but now that Amalia is approaching six years old --and Nico is two-- Eleni is still fighting the good fight against her kids wearing Disney characters on their clothes and battling the inevitable guilt felt by all mothers.)

Daughter Eleni, who studied Folk Lore and Mythology  at Harvard, recently launched her blog “The Liminal Stage”. (As she explains: “Liminal stages are psychological thresholds, times of transition when we stand ‘betwixt and between’ one state and another. The biggies are birth, marriage, death.”)


 Yesterday she posted about the Royal Wedding under the title “Will Kate Middleton Eat My Daughter?” (She was riffing on the current best seller “Cinderella Ate My Daughter” by Peggy Orenstein.)  From the topic of the Royal Wedding, she segued into pregnancy and motherhood and how  guilt is an inevitable ingredient in these major liminal stages—especially in the United States, where everyone is so uptight about what a pregnant woman should or should not do.

 Eleni began her post with the story of how I apologized to her for not watching Diana and Charles’ wedding with her 30 years ago, and maybe that's why  I found her essay hilarious while at the same time very wise and insightful about what a guilt-ridden state is motherhood these days.

So I got her permission to reprint her post today on “A Rolling Crone”. 

Now you’ll know why we’re not getting up at five a.m. tomorrow to drink tea and eat scones together, although we both  hope—along with every other woman waiting to see The Dress, that Kate will find her marriage guilt- and worry-free, unburdened by all the expectations and complications that Princess Diana dragged down the aisle along with her 25-foot train three decades ago.

Will Kate Middleton Eat My Daughter?

April 27th, 2011

That Royal Wedding, July 29, 1981, Getty Images / Fox Photos / Hulton Archive (borrowed from an about.com page on Princess Diana's wedding photos).

This morning my mother apologized. It’s a rare occurrence, but what was even more remarkable was the topic about which she felt guilty. “I was reading somewhere a woman remembering her mother waking her up to watch Princess Diana get married 30 years ago, and now the writer is going to wake up her own daughters to watch the Royal Wedding on Friday,” she reported. “And I felt sort of bad I didn’t wake you girls up.”

I told Joanie not to worry, that I actually thought it was a good move not to teach her five-year-old daughter (not to mention my then two-year-old sister) to fetishize a 19-year-old girl marrying a laconic older man who was in love with someone else.  I didn’t watch that royal wedding and I didn’t grow up expecting to marry a prince, ride around in Cinderella carriages and grace the covers of magazines.

In fact, in light of the current culture of princess parties, and Disney domination (its darker sides are discussed in Peggy Orenstein’s bestselling book Cinderella Ate My Daughter) and the fact that I’m due to give birth to a baby girl on August 19^th, I’ve decided to try to keep my daughter in the dark about Disney princesses for as long as possible. I don’t want her wearing clothing or diapers that advertise a film franchise if I can help it, and I’m guessing that I’ll still be in charge of what she wears until she’s about three.

Does that sound naïve? Defensive? Hypocritical, given the fact that the bandaids in our house already have Elmo on them, in anticipation of the baby’s birth?

Portrait of Amalia of Greece, by Joseph Karl Stieler

The truth is, I have no issue with princesses, real or fictional. The name we’ve picked for our daughter, Amalia, was the name of the first queen of Greece. (I’m not a Royalist, I just like the way the name sounds, that you can say it in Greek, English and Spanish—Amalia’s key cultures–and I have very positive associations with the name, as it also belongs to a dear friend of mine.)

Baby aside, and back to Kate Middleton, I’m taking advantage of a local spa’s Royal Wedding special—half price manicure/pedicures all day, plus they’re serving tea and crumpets! And I am excited to see what Kate wears—I hope it will put to rest the 15 year tyranny of the strapless wedding dress, and offer future brides more interesting options.

But the whole Royal Wedding brouhaha, and my mother’s guilt over opting out of the first one, has got me thinking about motherhood, and how a mom starts feeling guilt and fear before the baby is even born. Part of this is biological I think….I can’t read a People magazine without worrying about bringing a child into a world filled with tsunamis and wars and sex traffickers.

But I think part of the motherhood guilt is cultural, given the way American doctors tell us not to let anyone know we’re pregnant for the first trimester (if something were to go wrong, I’d be devastated either way, plus I’d want the support of my family and close friends–so whose feelings was I safeguarding by staying mum?).  In my first trimester I was painfully aware that something could go wrong at any moment—and then I realized that I will never again be free of that fear—at 96 I’ll be worrying about my 60–year–old baby.

Then, there’s the American culture of blame when it comes to every single thing you put in your mouth. In England, Kate Middleton will be glad to know, food safety is so good pregnant women get to eat sushi and smoked salmon and turkey, whereas here undercooked fish and smoked or cured fish or meats are strictly off limits. A Greek friend’s doctor told her she should drink a glass of red wine a day for the antioxidants, whereas here we’re not even supposed to have feta cheese, much less booze. I think all these US rules are overcautious, Puritanical and just plain wrong (for all our rules, the US has a higher infant mortality rate than most industrialized countries), but of course I’m following them—I couldn’t handle the guilt if I didn’t and something went awry.

Pomegranate--a lucky fruit--from www.flowers.vg

But I remember years ago, an Indian friend’s mother told me she ate a certain fruit or spice during each of her pregnancies, to ensure that her first child be handsome, her second joyful, her third brilliant. And I can’t help but think that is such a healthier, more positive attitude for mothers and babies—believing that by carefully choosing what you eat you can give your child blessings before they even greet the world, rather than fearing that if you put the wrong hors d’oeuvres in your mouth you are dooming your child to a lifetime of failure.

Once the baby’s born there’s the culture of competition—the race to the smuggest, to see who can feed (or diaper) their child more organically, shoe their baby’s tiny toes with the smallest carbon footprint. Before that there are so many loaded conversations about birth itself…I’m the only person in my prenatal pilates class giving birth in a hospital, and I have to admit that fact makes me feel wimpy.

The mother of Amalia the elder (not the Greek queen, but my BFF) likes to say that being a mom means being a punching bag—it’s part of the job description. And while right now I feel that quite literally—Amalia II likes to kick my hand off my stomach if I rest it there while watching TV—she means it figuratively; whatever choices you make as a mom, some of them will disappoint or hurt your children, and they’re sure to blame you. Just look at the first two lines of this blog for an example.

In the end, all you can do, I guess, is try to make the sanest, most loving choices possible, and forgive yourself for the times you fall short. And try not to judge other moms for not seeing parenting exactly as you do.

My non-royal, but rather princess-y carriage

So Joanie, thanks for not raising me expecting to become Princess Diana; it turns out she had a pretty hard row to hoe, despite the lovely tiara. And even though at 19 I was busily pursuing my degree in Folklore and Mythology and blaming my mom for making me wait until I was 13 to get my ears pierced, although my younger sister got hers pierced the exact same day—what’s that about?—I’ve had plenty of princess moments in my day.  I did marry a prince among men, eventually.  And I rode to the first of our two wedding ceremonies in a horse-drawn carriage, because we wed on the island of Corfu and that’s how they roll.

As a commoner without a title (until she’s married), Kate Middleton will ride to Westminster Abbey in a Rolls Royce (although she gets to leave in a carriage). Nevertheless, I hope she is surrounded by just as much love and laughter on her wedding day as I was on mine. I hope the little girls who get up early to watch her wed never forget doing so, and that those who sleep right through it have pleasant dreams of futures that don’t depend on the man they will marry, even if those dreams involve them turning into mermaids or having mice and bluebirds or seven little dwarves sew them fabulous couture gowns—and even if those gowns are strapless. Maybe Kate will have a daughter less than a year after her wedding, too. And when our daughters grow up and blog about us—and they will—I hope they will be kind.