Archive for February, 2022


With the people of the Ukraine in mind I write this post on charred Thursday in Greece. The meaning of charred during one of the days of the Greek carnival is important and many Greeks celebrate this day but I cannot help thinking also about the current situation in the Ukraine, the attacks on various cities, many people fleeing and the possible loss of lives. Mixed feelings. Life goes on but in other parts of the world wars are being fought.

In the meantime Tassos in his cantina (name of the cantina is: ομορφαίνει δεν παχαίνει/it makes you more beautiful, it does not make you fat) has hundreds of souvlakis on the BBQ and loud music on the speakers.

Tomorrow, the 25th of February, the patron saint of Skopelos, Agios Riginos is celebrated. Government offices will be closed, most shops too. The small church (called Agios Riginos) on the crossroad to Stafylos had various people painting and cleaning the shrine the last couple of days. Now it is ready for tomorrow.

Most people will go to the monastery of Agios Riginos on the road towards Panormos, a little outside of Skopelos town. The whole day people will arrive and light a candle in the church or the shrine next to it.

Χρόνια πολλά!!

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A friend of ours saw that we have a lot of lemons on our two lemon trees on our plot on the ring road and she asked for some.

We gave her a bag of lemons and in return she gathered wild greens in Glossa (the best area) and she gave us some fresh chicken eggs too!

Oh, how I love living here!

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A home for Tsoko

Tsoko was found abandoned in Glossa and needs a new home. He is vaccinated with a chip and if anybody can foster him before he gets adopted that would be great. You can contact Vetcare (24240-24410) or Natasa (306949521442) for more info.

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Panormos on Sunday afternoon

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Ach Apostolis!

Today we remembered Apostolis Kosifis with a 40 days memorial. Family and friends were around. It was good to see.

For me the words of Téa Obreht in the book “The tiger’s wife” give me comfort.

“The forty days of the soul begin on the morning after death. That first night, before its forty days begin, the soul lies still against sweated-on pillows and watches the living fold the hands and close the eyes, choke the room with smoke and silence to keep the new soul from the doors and the windows and the cracks in the floor so that it does not run out of the house like a river. The living know that, at daybreak, the soul will leave them and make its way to the places of its past — the schools and dormitories of its youth, army barracks and tenements, houses razed to the ground and rebuilt, places that recall love and guilt, difficulties and unbridled happiness, optimism and ecstasy, memories of grace meaningless to anyone else — and sometimes this journey will carry it so far for so long that it will forget to come back. For this reason, the living bring their own rituals to a standstill: to welcome the newly loosed spirit, the living will not clean, will not wash or tidy, will not remove the soul’s belongings for forty days, hoping that sentiment and longing will bring it home again, encourage it to return with a message, with a sign, or with forgiveness.

If it is properly enticed, the soul will return as the days go by, to rummage through drawers, peer inside cupboards, seek the tactile comfort of its living identity by reassessing the dish rack and the doorbell and the telephone, reminding itself of functionality, all the time touching things that produce sound and make its presence known to the inhabitants of the house”

Apostolis is around and will always be.

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