March 27 2016

Life and Island Times

Editor’s note: We are done with the account of the trip to The Hill, the secular temple to the constitutional Republic for which it stands. We may go back up there. It is time, on this holy day, to strike out with some bold new initiatives. Our pal Marlow contributes a stream of observations about a very special bit of coral, at the southernmost point of the Continental United States, a place with which I am deeply enamored. We are going to host Marlow’s writings at his own tab and archive over at www.vicsocotra.com- they are too good not to share. There will be some interesting features and The Daily will keep you posted on when they migrate there. But for this morning, I cede the podium to Marlow for his observations of how the Easter traditions cross the oceans and generations. And just for the record, if you ever have the chance to visit Cyprus, do it.…Vic
_____________

For many years Marlow supped every Easter Sunday with the grandparents of his second godson Nick. George and Helen were Greek Orthodox Catholics from Cyprus. Fleeing the Nazi occupiers, George emigrated from Cyprus, washing ashore in America during WW II. He met and married his belle Helen after the war, and they lived in Mount Vernon Virginia like the family depicted in the movie comedy “My Big Fat Greek Wedding.”

They were a joy to be with and celebrate that day. Everything was done as it had been in the old country – imported Greek charcoal, whole lamb roasted from early morning. spanakopita, red eggs, the traditional Greek-Cypriot sweet bread tsoureki, balalaika music, dancing in circles with upside down water cups upside atop our heads, and of course George’s retsina homemade with the sap from the pine trees that grew along a creek that fed the Potomac.

When the lamb was done, George, his son George, Nick, Nick’s father and Marlow would hoist the lightly charred beast from the pit and bring it to the carving table underneath the deck we five men had built for the belle Helen years earlier. We would then pray in Greek over the meal that we were about to share.

Christos anesti (“He is risen”) was how we greeted one another in the Greek Easter custom. Our response was always Alithos anesti (“Truly He is Risen!” or “He Has Risen Indeed!”).

The challenge of those Easters wasn’t so much believing but something more mundane and human, realizing that our years together were brief and George’s retsina was so powerful. For many years, George, one his neighbors and Marlow were the only ones who would sip the pine top tasting restina poured from a half gallon, wicker covered bottle that had sat the previous twelve months in George’s cooled basement closet.

Most years it was stiff and difficult, but sometimes it was smooth and inviting further consumption.

When Mike and then his children started to drink the retsina with the oldsters, the tradition had been passed down and the subversive belief fully shared – Christ is risen.

Copyright © 2016 From My Isle Seat
www.vicsocotra.com