As if to defy summer – to give no doubt that the dog days are over – the Meltemi winds are blowing particularly strongly across the Aegean keeping the island especially cool. With a high of 77 today and a “feels like 74” on Apple Weather, it feels more like a June morning in Westlake or a San Diego July than peak summer on Patmos. Not that Patmos gets hot – because 83 is usually as high as it gets – but atypically, the winds have brought some haze and Patmos is bathed in a diffused light as it’s naturally air conditioned instead of illuminated by the bright Greek sun, with resounding blue water and sky reflecting its light.
If God wanted to be as kind as possible to say, “I’ll take the sting away – go now!” this would be how to do it. It’s like flickering the lights when the restaurant or bar is getting ready to close. I can take the hint.
I’ve had times when leaving Patmos has felt scary. I’ve been filled with anxiety about getting back to my Westlake life. I have thought, “I do not want to get on that ferry…” And so have the kids – especially Sennen who for the past two years has threatened not only to refuse boarding, but to hide himself somewhere on the island until the search parties stop looking and then somehow integrate himself into Patmos life as if that would be normal for everyone.
This year, there’s still nothing other than the kids I really want to get back to. But I really want to be with them – and that’s something. I think there might be less I’m avoiding or dreading. That’s something. Without fixing anything, much of the turmoil of the past few years has died down as has the intensity of the months leading up to summer. It feels – again without jinxing anything – as if whatever’s waiting in Westlake is at least manageable and for that reason, I can get on the ferry without turmoil. Patmos will be here waiting for me – for us, really. The house is fine and the winter improvements have been figured out. I have systems in place now – it will be okay.
One system, however, remains incomplete. The drip irrigation system I ordered hasn’t arrived yet. I was hoping it would and that I might at least attempt setting it up myself. It looked possible. Instead I’ll have to ask Kostas who manages the property for me if he can give it a shot. I’ll feel much better knowing all the young plants in the garden will get consistent watering during the year and not rely on Kostas or Kostas’ kids or Emmanoula the cleaning lady to stop by – because as wonderful as they all are, I don’t think they’re as consistent as the plants would like – and I REALLY want the jasmine to take to the fences and help clear away their metallic ugliness, not to mention the neighbor’s black water tanks.
Better setup are the cats. The five-liter cat feeder arrived two days ago and I filled it with Friskies. Combined with the 20 kilo bag I put into a large plastic container, they cats should have a pretty decent off-season. The two-bowl feeder dispenses small amounts of dry food three times a day, meaning they will have to adjust to having less in regular increments rather than getting a big bowl they graze from over 24 hours. The first day they were very confused, but I think they get the idea now.
Although it disrupts the operation of the cat colony in my yard. As it seems to me – with input from others and some consultation with Google Gemini – Gingos and Ketchup run this yard in partnership. Apparently, two male cats – one slightly older than the other – are a common pairing for dominating a territory and these two are likely related and therefore trust each other. The food we provide gives them some socio-political power in the cat world because they have considerable resources many of the other feral cats in the neighborhood do not. So, like mafia kingpins, Gingos (the brains and pretty strong) and Ketchup (the brawn), decide which visiting cats get to approach the porch to eat and there seems to be an intricate set of rules and order around this with certain cats able to grab a snack without a hassle and others who can sometimes eat, sometimes not – or who have to kowtow before gaining admission. Their world is complicated, in a manner.
The auto-feeder may well disrupt the order of things because it dispenses not much more than what Gingos and Ketchup need. Sometimes they don’t eat a full helping and there’s some room for bossing and kowtowing, but generally not what a whole bowl of food allows. Will they be okay? I’m sure. Probably better to lose some standing than to have a hard winter finding food in other yards and being subject to other kingpins’ whims the way they likely have been doing. I also know the organization that takes care of cats around the island buys a cheaper food in high volume so it can feed them all and these guys seem to very much prefer their Friskies.
Now we hope it all works out – because you know what they say about the best laid plans. I suppose even if it doesn’t, there’s Sennen’s new perspective. The boy who used to take such interest in the cats proclaimed the other day, “I don’t really care anymore. They’re just stupid cats. I didn’t realize how dumb they are – but cats are dumb.”
Last night Eirini told me the workload is getting easier. Even though August is the peak time, as you slide into the second-half, people begin leaving. Although she makes money from cruise passengers visiting her shop, among the people who stay on Patmos, she sells most when they first arrive or when they leave – buying gifts to bring with them, just as I was doing. The peak of the peak has peaked.
Thanks to the Iran War, my beautifully planned travel sequence developed a kink. As booked, it would have been a late-night ferry to Athens, straight to the airport for an early afternoon flight to Istanbul and an early evening flight to Los Angeles, getting me in just before midnight on the 17th with very reasonable connection times that were neither too long, nor without a little cushion. On top of it, Turkish is very comfortable and would allow me to re-enter the United States at LAX – which is much more convenient that Chicago, Dulles or Newark.
Unfortunately, in March with fears of jet fuel dwindling and costs skyrocketing, Turkish cancelled some flights and one of them was my afternoon exit from Athens. Which in turn made the connection options unpleasant. Which eventually led me to a 3 am flight from Athens to Istanbul on the 18th instead of 17th, an 8 am flight out of Istanbul and a late morning arrival at LAX. Which also led me to get a cheap hotel room near the Athens airport so I’d have a place to crash for the day and maybe get a little sleep so I’m better prepared to take on the travel home – especially given this ferry transit I’ll have an Airplane Type Seat and not a cabin, leaving me already not well-rested.
Will it all be fine in the end? Most likely. I just imagine I’ll be tired for awhile.
One thing I can say is in past years, being on Patmos alone has felt more alone. Certainly socializing with Eric, Sylvie and their guests brightened things. Even more so, being a known quantity and having a place in the social structure has changed the vibe. I’m no longer a stranger – I’m in the fabric of things.
More importantly, this time has been restful. I got a good night’s sleep almost every night. I have read, cooked, had downtime, worked on the house and done far fewer errands. People call and text less when I’m here. It’s funny how in a digital world where there’s no additional cost for communication, the idea that we’re physically far apart makes them feel more barrier in communicating. Which isn’t so bad. Those months from March to June with everything that was happening had a LOT of communication for so many reasons. There are so many people I love interacting with and I can’t say I haven’t enjoyed having a little less communication. There has been room to breathe.
As usual, I’m grateful to Patmos for everything it gives me. I’ll miss it a lot. Next summer can’t come soon enough. And it’s okay. As Soul II Soul said so presciently in their #4 on the Billboard Top 100 song in 1989, “Back to Life. Back to Reality.”
Or it could go another way. As Florence + The Machine offered us in 2008, “The Dog Days are over, the Dog Days are done, the horses are coming, so you better run….”
We’ll find out.
