"Has it sunk in that you have this house in Patmos?" Michelle asked last night.
I paused because the answer was surprisingly unclear to me.
"Escrow" closed in march 2023 and I had all of last summer here. Obviously, just looking at this blog, I spent last summer figuring out how to improve the house from furniture to appliances to updating the kitchen and bathroom. The house was my summer – so certainly, it sank in that I have it and it's real. Then came the changes over the months I was away. Coming back, the house is vastly changed. The seeds I planted last summer came to bloom and in many ways, it feels like a different house – just as planned.
I feel like I'm getting used to the house all over again – only instead of being a labor of love, it's kind of a magical experience. Last night Michelle and I both had work calls, so it seemed easiest if I made dinner that we could each grab when we were on breaks.
One thing I've learned about myself is that my line of thought is often pretty consistent, even when I forget I had it. At Trader Joe's, sometimes I can't remember if I have a certain ingredient in the houses I buy it and it will turn out I have somewhere between one and three of those same things because last TJ's run I thought to buy ahead for next time. Apparently, a good idea one day is still a good idea on another.
The same applies here on Patmos. My Summer 2023 self did a great job anticipating my Summer 2024 self's needs. Last summer I was happy for a spatula. This summer, I have almost every pot, pan, utensil and cooking tool I could need and more good food prep knives than in Westlake. Making dinner was a breeze while I found myself occasionally delighted by the little things it turns out I already bought. This wasn't the kitchenette Emily and I had in 2010 and 2014 nor the barely functional Airbnb kitchen of 2019 and not even the more passable one of my 2022 sojourn. This kitchen was distinctly MY kitchen and worked just as well if not better than Westlake.
"An authentic American house! Dishwasher, washer and dryer are too fancy for a house on an island," Matheus – our au pair who was with us for our nine weeks here in Summer 2019 – texted me as we discussed his visit next month. In Matheus' native Brazil, the appliance situation is similar to most of Europe – a small washer is common, but no dryers, nor dishwashers or garbage disposals (the trifecta of American convenience). He is right that you can take me out of American, but you can't quite take the American out of me. It helped that the woman I bought the house from was Greek, but was born and spent her childhood in Australia – so appliances mattered to her too. I ultimately had to replace her ailing dryer and dishwasher, but I still use the solid Siemens washing machine she left behind.
"One of my life goals is having a dishwasher. My mom says it is useless. But I've told her that she thinks that because she never used it. Once she tried it, there's no way back," Matheus said.
Over the years we had six au pairs from Germany, Sweden, Brazil, Brazil, France and Italy. One thing they all had in common was their appreciation for the dryer. To me, that seems like the obvious winner of the American trifecta. So I asked Matheus was he sure the dishwasher was his number one?
"The dryer is great!! And I love it, buuut I think if I could pick only one, I'd get the dishwasher."
To each his own. Or in my case, both.
The living room rug and sofa have transformed the room, making the place softer – which much more reflects my idea of home. I like comfort and to offer hospitality. It may not be the largest living room, but it can now comfortable seat seven or eight. The cool outdoor daylight (aka harsh blue-range) bulbs that shocked my nervous system when we arrived last year have been banned and all the fixtures changed. The house now has a lot of woven wicker-y light shades and a warm saffron glow if I want to drop it down to lamps-only at night. In short, it's a house that is Greek enough to belong here and warm and comfortable enough to be reflect me – the synthesis of me and Patmos.
For me, feeling like a house is mine means it being in order. In that way, this house is ALMOST there. It doesn't have art yet – but that's not an actual requirement for me to feel settled, although it probably should be. What bugs me is a shelving unit from IKEA that needs assembling to replace an old one that was left by the prior owner and the Greek-style built-in barbecue that needs clearing out and cleaning. Why it has a garden hose and an outdoor flood light in it, I don't know. But that will change before the week is up.
Yorgos, the electrician Mohammad is using to connect my bathroom lights is also MIA. Bathroom lighting is an essential component of the house feeling complete. The scented candlelight showers were novel last week, but I'm not living the life of a young lesbian. And Mohammad hasn't stopped by to "call the water" to the dishwasher – but keeps saying he will soon. I won't feel settled until it's done and I especially want the dishwasher working before the kids arrive mid-July.
Still, these items are minor in the scope of things – more finishing touches than big projects.
For Michelle, I think the question may have had a slightly different flavor than I interpreted. I heard "Has it sunk in that you have THIS HOUSE in Patmos?" For Michelle, I think the sentence was "Has it sunk in that you have this house IN PATMOS?"
I know how special Patmos is and I always react to it viscerally. Patmos is bright, sparkling, shiny blue and white magic that brings me to life. From a boat, beach or vantage point Patmos is a sandwich of brown hills between a vibrant blue sky and even more vibrant blue sea bathed in sun. It resonates with me deeply.
In another sense, I'm also used to Patmos. I've been coming here for 14 years now. I know what to expect and forget what it's like to experience Patmos fresh. Michelle is not only experiencing Patmos with new eyes, but for better and worse is following this guy who knows where he's going and what he's doing in a more local way. She's not quite a tourist nor a local – yet it is her first time here. She also helps remind me why I love Patmos so much.
When I talk to certain locals about getting my house on Airbnb, they have tips, advice and opinions. George who runs a vacation rental agency specializing in large, fancy houses with ocean views told me my house is not in his wheelhouse to manage and list. At first, I felt a little rejected – or that maybe my house was inadequate. Then he made clear there was nothing wrong with my house – he just doesn't specialize in marketing Skala properties. That said, with my renovations, layout and location, there are a number of types of visitors he thinks will really like my property – especially people in the same boat as me: families coming for extended stays.
That made sense. Maria, the former owner bought the house as a place to take her three boys for the summer while her cruise ship captain husband was working the busy season. I'm taking my kids here each year. Maria had told me she could just let her boys run free and that they made friends, had fun and her fondest memories of raising her kids were from those Patmos summers.
That's when I realized, my goal – even if I could afford it – was never to have an Architectural Digest home overlooking the water capable of commanding 2000 euros per night. It was to have a little piece of this magical place of myself and my loved ones. I want my kids to have Patmos as part of the undercurrent of their lives – and to be able to take what's here with them wherever they go as they walk the world. I also want friends, family and anyone I care about to be able to have this experience. There are so many parts of life that are hard, paths that are challenging and places that are dark. We all need an occasional lift and inspiration. I'm lucky enough to have captured some.
"If you get divorced, this will be a healing place for you and your children," Maria told me. Ironically, it was her husband who wanted to sell, not her – but she intuited that maybe the house had a future ahead of it. "You can come here and heal."
And we have. Maybe we're not fully done. But we have.
