You wanna drachma?


If I were Greek, I’d want a drachma. I mean- why would I want something pronounced “euro,” unless it meant I got big slices of lamb inside a nice piece of pita? Drachma, on the other hand, sounds like I’m lounging around, drinking Retsina, eating juicy black olives and having a good time: You wanna drachma? Yeah, I thought you’d never ask…

…although I was hoping you’d have some feta while you’re at it. Which sounds kinda stinky, I know, but you have to name cheese like it smells. Goat cheese smells like sweaty feet, so “feta” is a great name. And, to be honest, it doesn’t taste too bad in a souvlaki. Well, at least not on Mama Prokos’ souvlakis…

I miss Mama…and her souvlakis. She had such a way with stuffing the pita, it made you drool. That cucumber sauce, fresh tomatoes, onions, olive oil, funky green stuff, and Mama’s love…she had a way with sandwiches. And when you bit into that hunk of food love, you could almost taste Heaven…

…as opposed to biting into school cafeteria food which tastes like Hell incarnate- but that’s another story entirely…and for much much later…maybe at an evangelism outreach…but I digress…

Anyway, Mama had a partner, Mister Prokos. His name was something like “Vasilos” or something that sounded like “vasoline,” although he was not a slick character unless Mama had her head turned away from him while cutting the baklava. But while we ate our souvlakis, Mister Prokos was the one who provided entertainment. In between “Opa!” and the sound of the knife on the cutting board, he could rattle off more Greek in one minute than all the Greek I learned in one year of college. That’s because my Greek professor was a little old man who literally berated students until some ran out of the class in tears- young girls mostly, although I remember one boy…

…who berated the teacher and he retired shortly after. But Professor Meany would be no match for Mister Prokos; for the latter could gun down any Greek speaker with a barrage of insults that even made Mama whimper. I felt sorry for her and would go up to the counter, interrupting the barrage, to ask for more “pepsi.” I could never ask for Mountain Dew or Coke or anything else because Mama didn’t know any other word for drink in English. It was a bit like the Samurai in John Belushi’s famous Cheeseburger skit from the glory days of Saturday Night Live…just replace  “Cheeseburger” with “Pepsi” and add a repetitious phrase “You want Pepsi?” (Always delivered with Mama’s wonderful smile). With entertainment like this, who could ask for anything more?

So, you could say I have a soft spot for all things Greek…including the people. The Greeks are wonderful people, in a fabulous little country with so much history, the History Channel could create an H3 just to cover Greek history, archeology, and culture. But after reading the financial news today, I wonder what will happen to our Greek friends…and much of the rest of Europe. We stand at a precipice waiting to see over the edge. But the edge is looking more like a cliff than a gentle grade down…and that should concern all of us…because if it can happen to Greece, it could happen to any country.

 

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About thelostkerryman

Thelostkerryman is an author, entrepreneur, and disciple- this side of Tir Na N'Og- living in the forests of a consistently confused country. Here in this hill country, hurling doesn't usually involve a hurley, store-made soda bread resembles an inedible Irish megalith, and Kerrygold is only found hidden like a luck penny in the belly of Kroger. This blog is an account of his adventures, thoughts, eclectic -and eccentric- ramblings, random or insightful poetry, humor and non-humor, pictures (photos), video, essays, fiction, poetic fiction, nonfiction, drama, and writing he has not classified in the description above. All of my posts, thelostkerryman.wordpress.com, everydayasadisciple.wordpress.com, and mrandmrsboring.wordpress.com are copywrited according to international copywrite law.
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