Summer

This has been a very busy summer, marked most notably by the recent departure of our dear friends who planned, saved, packed and moved to Paris. Seems like pretty much until they left this past wednesday, I've spent the summer thus far just working or spending time with them, not accepting that I'd soon have to find other things to do with my weekends. With my mind so occupied with work and their goings-on it sort of dawned on me that I have not only not blogged in over a month, but I have also not really paid much mind to my own upcoming holiday - back to Greece.

I got my first passport when I was 11 months old and was immediately whisked away to Greece to visit my grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. For most of my childhood my parents, brother and I would return to Greece and spend the entire summer. I'd come home several shades darker and barely able to speak English. As I got busier with my schooling, the trips became fewer and further between with a couple of 5 year gaps when money was tight. Since I finished university I have been very diligent on returning to Greece every other summer for 2-3 weeks. It's an expensive trip and with only 3 weeks of paid holiday time per year, it's difficult to do much more than that. Last year was supposed to be a "Greece Year", having been last in '04 during the Olympics, however with a complete renovation of our kitchen which turned into an 8 month ordeal and major construction project, well broke we stayed put.

This year we were dead set on going and purchased tickets several months back for September. With as crazy as the summer has been and as far out as Semptember seems to feel in the Spring, I've just not had the time to think about our trip. Until now. My wife and I will be flying out on the 31st of August and will stay until the 18th of September, which although shorter than the 3 months I'd spend as a boy, will undoubtedly wash away the stresses of the last 3 months of my adulthood.

When we fly into Greece what I like best is that first burst of pure heat that hits your face when you exit the airport, not unlike opening your preheated oven. Then we board a tiny little plane and fly to Limnos where we arrive a mere 30 minutes later. As a child we did this trip via boat as it was much more economical but at this point in my life I'd rather pay 3 times as much and save myself the 8 miserable hours on the ferry.

Our days on Limnos usually consist of the same things that we've done for the last 30+ years. Wake up, drink a frappe, walk down Myrina's high street down to the harbor. Hit some shops, watch some kids fishing, watch a ferry boat come in or leave, then walk back. A wonderful and healthy mid-day meal is usually followed up by another quiet stroll which is different that the morning walk due to the fact that 90% of the residents are enjoying a nice siesta by that point. All the walking then just makes us want to go for a swim at one of the beautiful local beaches, or maybe we'll take drive to another part of the island to a more obscure beach. Perfect.

That's a snapshot of what's to come. I like that as the years pass, people move or die, stores and restaurants come and go, but Limnos never loses it's charm or compromises it's soul. That's what I love about it so much. As we fly over Paris in a few weeks I'll longingly peer down from above with a touch of sadness in missing our friends but knowing that it will all be washed away by the cool meditteranean in but a matter of hours! That and our December trip to Paris will be here in no time.

Serendipity

I don't usually write about the happenings of my day, but I must admit, this afternoon was just what I needed.

I am a big fan of futbol - Liverpool in particular. I was turned onto Liverpool by one of my best mates, Mark, back in 1994 and have been hooked ever since. They have an extremely loyal fanbase and very cool kits. Anyway, in this part of the world, Futbol is not the most popular sport, so the opportunity to indulge in a match comes highly infrequently, save for the World Cup every 4 years. I also dont have many people that I can watch matches with, since again, no one here cares.

Today Liverpool was playing Chelsea in the UEFA and I desperately wanted to see it. This match started at 2:30 in the afternoon, which happens to be in the heart of my afternoon work schedule, however I was driven to find a way to get away from the office to watch. Running my department, I certainly don't need much of an excuse or permission, but an accomplice just makes it more fun. I have a friend who is also a client and a friend, and he too is a fan of the footie, so I thought perhaps he'd play hooky and accompany me. I emailed him and patiently awaited his reply.... "Brilliant idea", he said, "let's do it!" We chose a pub and a time and met up. By the time he arrived the first half was done, Chelsea was up 1 - nil and I was half way through my second pint. I could give a shit really. It was 3:30 pm on a beautiful Wednesday afternoon and I was out having pints of Guinness with a friend and watching a Liverpool match. Life is good! We spent most of the time just talking about traveling, past experiences, his new baby, etc. Liverpool actually ended up losing and I didn't really care. I try to delicately balance the client-friend relationship, so venues like this, make for a more low key occasion to socialize. I was actually pondering if in fact I had to choose whether I'd rather him as a friend or client, what would I prefer? Tough to say, but that should be another post.

Anyway, 3 pints and an hour post match later, we parted ways and I made my way home. En route, I decided to call my best mate Cricket to see if he'd like to meet for a coffee. I figured my wife wont be home until 7, so why go home now? I gave him a ring on his mobile, and coincidentally, he was already at our favorite coffee shop. I asked him to give me 5 minutes and I'd be there. I made it in 4.5 flat, ordered my massive latte, and made my way back to where he was waiting. We spent the better part of an hour and a half just talking about the usual guy stuff, wives, chicks, jobs, money, booze, etc and then decided to call it a day.

The afternoon cost me something like 15 quid, filled my body with a couple of gallons of liquid and pretty much spoiled my appetite, but I couldn't have asked for a more fulfilling way to spend a Wednesday afternoon. Serendipity at its finest!

Rites of Spring

Today was our first perfect spring day of the year. I woke up late to a bright sun, opened the windows for some fresh air, did some exercises and set out to begin the first of many groomings of my yard.

I spent most of Saturday emptying my garage just to gain access to my lawnmower which this morning, after months of hibernation, started on the first pull with the glee of a child on the first day of school. I pushed play on my ipod and spent the better part of the next 3 hours cutting grass, edging, raking, sweeping and fertilizing. I also managed to get my first bit of color from the daytime sun. A nice feeling after months of goosepimples and chattering teeth.

This evening, my wife and I and our dear friends, took a stroll up the street to have ice cream. In the warm months, this is an almost nightly ritual. The strolls tend to be similar. We'll talk about the happenings of the day, we'll likely run into one or more other neighbors on similar quests for dairy delights. We'll usually order the same flavors, from preferably our favorite "barrista" Molly, and sit for a while enjoying or treats, before the walk back. This year, with our friends moving to Paris, I imagine I will savor the walks even more than the ice cream.

Along with taking in the sights and the fresh spring air, we also get quite a bit of joy from people watching. Especially crazy people. Our neighborhood has its share of outcasts which are such a part of the area they may as well be trees or lampposts. One of these such characters is known as Dog-Man. He's a slightly disheveled man in his fifties I'm guessing, he always wears some sort of suit and tie and seems like he has somewhere to be, but I don't think he actually does. Sometimes you'll see him at the market or maybe at the library or he may just be looking at the kiosk outside of the ice cream shop. Usually though he's just walking around. He used to have a small dog as his angry little companion, but he doesn't seem to anymore. Maybe we should rename him Dogless-Man.

There was a new crazy guy on the walk home tonight. He was sitting on the sidewalk by the bus stop wearing a hat and a smile and a had a bag with his belongings next to him. He mumbled something, which I thought was something about needing a light. None of us smoke, so we couldn't help. The further from him we got, the louder he seemed to be getting. After a good 100 meters from him we looked back to find that he had actually started following us, but on the opposite of the street. He was still yelling, but incoherently. We wondered if maybe he was not in fact crazy, but was on a wireless headset and speaking on his mobile. When my wife then eloquently said "yeah, the cel phone in his head!". At that we agreed that yeah, he was probably just crazy. We finally arrived at our street and our home and the crazy man had continued on down the street yelling at whomever was within hearing distance. Godspeed!

Some might be frightened by such an occurrence, but I was sort of excited to have a new crazy guy in the neighborhood. I suppose I shouldn't get to carried away, but I figure if I see him let's say 2 more times, then I'll get to name him too.

Adam

Several months ago, after incessant prodding from my subordinates, I joined the virtual friendship database of Myspace. I'd like to think that my team wants to know the inner me like the private and tortured Tom Hanks' character in Saving Private Ryan, and the deep curiousity of his troops as to what made him tick. Maybe not.

Anyway, I joined and at first it seemed sort of cool to have my own poor man's website, where I'd post all my movie reviews, rants about all the many things in the world I find so wrong and maybe I'd even be contacted by some long lost friend. It went kind of like that I suppose, but it was a bit more like a fishing trip. You know, you have all these grandiose ideas of what it will be like, what you'll catch how great the weather will be. You get your gear together, you make some sandwiches, pack the car you get some bait on the way and head to the lake.

Once there you find the perfect spot, settle in, bait your line or lines and wait. And wait some more. All the while your beers getting warm and flat in the afternoon sun and your sandwich looking more appetizing to the flies circling overhead than to you. You get uncomfortable and begin to get sunburned. Then you get a call on your mobile from your wife nagging you about how you've been gone all day and when are you coming home. Not too unwelcome actually, and you turn to your mate and say "hey, yeah, the bird, she, um ,needs me to get back and uh, well you know....what a nag!'

But I digress. Anyway, after going searching for everyone in my outlook contacts, friends, family, old girlfriends naturally, I made my way through any old classmates going as far back as my memory would allow, which was basically through University. One old friend found me, but he is now a drugged out junkie and doesn't look so good. Sucks for him.

I did finally find someone, an old classmate from design school named Adam. He and I began University together and the way it worked was that for the first year the entire class is megred as one. Then during the second year, it's split in half and then you alternate work and school until the last year. Adam and I met that first year and became friends, mainly through our common interest of cycling. We got on well that first year and kept in touch during our off quarters. The last year of design school, the groups are combined as one, though much smaller now having weeded out half the class over the course of time. We graduated, got jobs in seperate parts of the country and kept in touch via email from time to time, then eventually lost track of one another. Until I found him on Myspace.

At first I didn't think anything of it. I dont actually read people's pages, I could give a shit what sign people are or what they and Jenny did last weekend or whatever. It was obviously Adam from his picture. He was standing by a pool shirtless and smiling. Odd choice, but maybe he was single. Anyway. I hit request friend and contacted him. I noticed he logged on that day, so I figured him a regular visitor.

A day went by, then 2 then a week and no response from Adam. No acceptance. What's with that i thought? I went back to his page and to my disappointment, he had still been logging on regularly, so why had he not okayed my request? I thought we were mates! I sent another request.

I began checking daily to see if he'd logged in, which he did...regularly! As I was finiding myself visiting his page often, I decided to finally read some. The first thing I noticed was all the friends that left comments were men. That's cool I figured, he's still playing the field with his mates. The comments were like, "hey Adam, I had a great time last weekend. let's do it again!" or "wow, you're an amazing dancer" or "I love how you look in that swimsuit". Now, I've been known to throw less than manly compliments to my mates, but these, well, didn't sit right. There was something off about this.

His profile read about him being single and looking for that right person. Normal stuff. Until I got to the end of the "about me" section. It said something like..."I want to be a part of YOUR team." What team is that?

Again, another week went by and I had been again denied. I just couldn't understand. Accept me, dammit! I only have my wife, my mate Chris and Tom as friends for fuck's sake. Pick me! I went back and sent another request.

I read more and more. I looked at all the pictures. I read all the comments. I clicked to the pages of his mates. And like that scene at the end of The Sixth Sense, I suddenly saw the truth. Adam was gay! I was Bruce Willis, my head spinning, searching for fleeting moments in my head and in my past that could connect the dots back to this new revelation. Adam was gay and we never knew it. What were the clues? He never had a girlfriend. He was neat. He was friendly. The signs were there I suppose, he just didn't seem gay really.

I deduced that that was the reason then why he hadn't approved me as a friend. I had blown his cover, and could potentially out him to all of his former classmates, or at least to the handful I've actually kept in touch with in the last 15 years. I decided that I would go back to his page and tell him something like..."Hey Adam, it's me Simon. How are you? You look great! Hey, by the way, I see you're gay now, and hey mate, that's totally cool. I love gays! You're 'the only gay in the village ' right? Like Daffyd?!? Right?...cool". That's sort of what I would have said.

I gathered the courage and went back to his page. It was no longer! I searched again. Maybe I spelled it wrong. Where is he? I fear I may have spooked him away.

Haley Joel Osment, where are you!

Friends

The area of the country where I live is often called "a great place to raise a family". This is a nice way of saying it is cheap, relatively safe and most of all, it lacks any excitement. What this means for me is that, while I am able to afford a fairly nice house, I have to travel to other cities for any decent clothes shopping. It also means that no one sticks around here for very long, especially if they dont have a family to raise.

Over the years of living here I seem to have had several finite friendships. Being a region where most people that are born here, die here, I am typically drawn to these short term residents as they are likely far more interesting. These tend to be magical folk who have been past the shire and tell tales of cities of gold, forests as tall as buildings and riches beyond your wildest dreams. They come here for new jobs or they'll return briefly for family reasons. They stay a while, then move on to someplace typically more exciting. Places which are apparently not "great places to raise a family".

4 years ago we hired a new designer (I'll call him C) who moved here from Los Angeles with his pregnant wife to work at our growing firm. We didn't get on too well at the beginning as he had a tendency to rub people the wrong way with his brash big city ways. Having worked in other cities and countries with countless different personalities, I was more accustomed, but even with that, C was particularly difficult at times. Howvere, a funny thing happened about 5 months into his stay here. There was a project that we were working on together that required us to make a research trip to South America. He and I both enjoy travel and were excited at the opportunity, though I was still a bit uncertain as to how it would be spending extended periods of time with him out of the office. What happened over the next few weeks as we planned our trip, was that a guy who was once borderline nemesis at work, couldn't have been more different outside of that environment. My wife and I began spending several evenings at his flat planning our adventure all the while growing closer to him, his wife and baby.

With an elaborate itinerary planned, which hit 2 countries, 3 cities and a wonder of the world, over the course of 1 week's time, and we set off on our quest a la Frodo and Sam. We arrived in Santiago, Chile early in the morning on a Sunday, took a taxi to our hotel in a nice section of town, checked in and went off to begin our research. Most of the stores were in fact closed though due to the day. Not that it was Sunday, but that it was Chilean Indepence day. This made for an interesting twist to the experience. There was a grand parade which was particularly amusing as the Chilean military was actually trained and outfitted by the Germans years ago, so they all looked like tiny, swarthy SS. Odd.

Anyway, 2 days there, then off to Lima, Peru which was far worse than we had initially expected. Imagine a bit of Jakarta mixed with a dash or Marrakech, swirled with a splash of Mexico City and there you have it. From there we left for Cuzco, Peru and our selfish sidetrip to Macchu Pichu, which to this day is the most amazing place I have ever been. We ended our trip back in Lima, rushing through Miralflores and the antique shops to export a 100 year old Thai sculpture my mate had fallen in love with.

After a week of eating and drinking (a lot) while immersed in foreign environments researching the shopping habits and packaging in 3rd world latin american counrties, we had become inseparable. We saw mountains of ice and kingdoms of stone. We even saw a dead hobo on a sidewalk. He looked like an old shoe.

We came back to the office changed men. We had seen and done things and bonded in ways that maybe only can happen on the battlefield. This was no normal business trip. You dont see dead hobos on most business trips.

After a few more months, right after his 1 year anniversary at the firm, C announced that he and his family were moving back to California. Many in the office were happy. I was sad. He and his wife and daughter had become more like family to us than friends in a very brief period. And like that, they were gone. It's been 3 years now since they've left and we've managed to maintain regular contact with them, even spending time with them at their home last summer.

This past week I had a call that C was flying into town for a meeting! My wife and I were thrilled to have him stay with us. He arrived on saturday evening a bit under the weather, so we stayed home, cooked and caught up a bit before bed time. The next couple of days were spent talking, introducing him to our new friends (who still consider him "the competition"). He took that all in jest and it was great to have him around, even at half speed due to his cold. He wrapped up his visit today when I drove him to the airport, hugged him goodbye, and with that he left to go back to San Francisco.

What struck me the most was that while I miss him not being nearby, I think I missed him more while he was here. Distance and time make you forget what it's like to interact with someone regularly and when they're suddenly back, you seem to notice the void that they had left more. Friendships like these are in fact more familial than anything and not having much family in this country, I like that. You can tell because you dont have to do anything for entertainment and you can feel its depth when you laugh with them and when you cry with them. I think that's how you know you'll be friends forever.

Since C and his wife left, we've blessed to have had "the replacements" in our lives, but soon they too will leave and begin their own adventure. They're family now too and I know this because I find myself starting to miss them before they've even gone.

Jack True

As a hobby and borderline obsession, my dad collects art. He has hiked mountains in Nepal, excavated ruins in Brazil and scavenged the most obscure regions of Indonesia all in search of art(and sometimes rare woods, but that's another story). My dad also spends most weekends at auctions and art galleries, buying interesting (and sometimes not) work or looking for up and coming talent to invest in.

Back in 1984 he met such a talent, a young graduate student of art named Jack True. Jack already had a bachelors in painting and was finishing up his masters when my dad was first introduced to his work. Among the 6 or 7 masters students that year, Jack's work stood out the most, and to this day, I've never seen other work like his.

Jack was a typical artist in some ways as far as he was sort of aloof and very much into the things he was interested in, but he lacked that off-putting ego that you'll find in many. He was a man of the earth, great with people, genuine and a good family man. He loved nature, he loved life and he loved art. That and he loved marijuana.

Jack looked sort of what you'd expect Grizzly Adams might look like if was very slender. He was a painter, a sculptor, a furniture craftsmen and particulary loved to carve wood and would often pair interesting combinations of species and grains. All of his work was very organic and extremely well assembled and executed with an authentic percision, not unlike a 200 year old log cabin or 5000 year old pyramid.

His paintings were snapshots in time as seen through the his eyes, as no one else could. Working with acrylic paints, brushes and airbrush, he achieved surreal depictions of river beds, landscapes and skies. His paintings were often times very large and you'd find yourself floating into them, exploring all the details, seeing only a glimpse of what he must have seen. Later in his career Jack began creating elaborate stretchers over which he painted-in the shapes of eagles and arrow heads, structures so intricately built, that the back of the paintings were art in their own right.

My dad became good friends with Jack after meeting him in '84, and was likely his biggest benefactor over the years. I met Jack then also, myself a young artist no more than 12 years old, I was really captivated with his work and his personality. I began spending time at his studio where he would let me help him make stretchers, make crates for shipping his pieces and offering me tips on his techniques. During the summer of '87 I believe(Jack and I good friends by now), Jack spent more time training and teaching me, imparting wisdom and criticism, both always constructive, drawing together and grooming me to pursue a creative career of some sort.

As I entered the later stages of my teen years, I was driving and becoming more independent, I began to rely less and less on parents and friends and didn't see Jack quite as much. A few years later though, already pursuing an Industrial Design degree at University, I was working on a project to design and construct a chair. Naturally, I called Jack. I went over to his new house, which had a bigger studio and workshop and went over my ideas for the project that I had in mind. My work being a bit more contemporary than his, it was a bit tough for him to get his head around, but he was gracious, offered me his advice and the use of his workshop. I spent the better part of three weeks at his place working on this chair (which I still have in my living room) and even though we hadn't seen eachother much in the 3 years prior, it was like old times, only better. I somehow felt like I was catching up and our age difference wasn't the barrier it once was.

With the chair project completed, presented and awarded, I was well on my way to finishing my degree and pursuing my career path. I invited Jack to my University graduation, as I had for my High School graduation, but surprisingly he didn't make it to either. It bothered me a bit, but I understood. He's an artist and you never know when the moment will strike to be creative. I always hoped that he was lost in some masterpiece during these events and the days just slipped by. He was probably, just sleeping, but that's hardly as romantic. I bumped into Jack at a Celtic festival a few years after that and we spoke for a bit, talked about getting together sometime to catch up, but never did.

Jack died almost 3 years ago today, on the 24th of March, 2004. He passed suddenly of an apparent heart condition at 45 years old. I read it in the newspaper, which made it less personal, yet far more painful. Jack was my mentor, my guide and most of all my friend. He may in fact have played a bigger role in shaping me than my parents ever could.

I have been a design professional now for almost 15 years, while practicing my art on my own time and now, on the eve of my first solo art show next week, I couldn't help but think of Jack and how much I wish he could be there.

I'm guessing that he probably wouldn't have made it. He'd probably be working on some new masterpiece.