Today we were at the beach. After days of being treated like a child, I decided that I would listen to my elders and decide for myself if I shall accept their advice. This would help me better control my frustrations. I heard “Connie, it’s very hot. Put casquette on your head.” Casquette is a hat in French. I was told this when I was getting into the car, when we were getting out of the car, while walking to the beach, when I laid down my towel, once stretched out in the sun, and yes all of those times I was told I need to put on a casquette. I said “okay” each time. Finally Annie, a bilingual friend that’s been with us for the last few days, told me that it’s very hot and if there was any reason that I wouldn’t put a hat on. I said that I will do it later when I felt the need. Each time I get in or out of the car it’s “Be very careful.” I know their intentions are well, but I’m a big girl.
On the Monday before I left to Greece, I had quite a bit to do. We had to leave the flat at 4:00am in the morning on Tuesday to catch our flight and I knew I wouldn’t get much sleep. That doesn’t bother me. Most all of you know that I am a nocturnal creature and cannot close my eyes before midnight. Isabelle got home around 10:00pm and was shocked that I wasn’t in bed and hadn’t packed yet. She made a comment that I should be in bed. Later that night I was talking to a friend and I told him what she said. He said wittingly “Did you tell her you were a grown woman?” I was like “Yeah, you’re right!” It hit me right then. Good gosh, I can handle things. I’ve been me for all these years and I know what I can handle. If I don’t put a hat on and get a sunburn, heck, I’ve learned my lesson. But I know how long I can be in the sun before I get burned. If I don’t go to bed and I am tired the next morning, then I’ve learned my lesson. However, I am very hard-headed because I have to re-learn this lesson each night because I ALWAYS go to bed too late and morning always comes too soon. I am woman, hear me roar.
One thing I won’t miss about Greece is the constant reminder that the sun is very hot. No lie, every day I hear this. I promise there isn’t anyone in the world that denies the larger-than-life ball of fire is hot.
Alright, back to my story about the beach. Today we were packing up to go back to the house. I called Zac over to put him in his clothes. He runs over and gets sand all of the place of course. We I tell him to strip down. He does and he plays this whole modest game with me, like oh I don’t want anyone to see me naked. Whatever. What he said made me laugh so hard. He was talking so fast but said that he didn’t want anyone to see his KikiKoo. Yes people, he calls it his KikiKoo. I couldn’t stop laughing and he kept asking why I was laughing. I asked if that’s what all the French call it. He said no that’s just what he calls his. Good to know.
Lunch was excruciating. We had moule. I have no idea how to spell it, but that’s what it sounds like. I saw it and wanted to scream. I can’t even describe it. The kids had it for their meal and I was so fearful they all loved it. Then I would look like a chicken for not trying it. I told Daddy George that I wasn’t in a “testing” mood. He said to test one. Seriously, it’s not like a new veggie or fruit, it was a slimy thing with turd-like things on the inside. Nothing about it looked appetizing. I cut it in half and was near fainting. Matteo looked as though he wanted to cry because he knows that he is expected to eat everything on his plate. Zac tried it and gave the best grimace he could. He eats anything, so I knew that I was safe to assume that I would hate it. Prune and Rose were eating the suckers up like they were candy. They were the only two kids that liked them. Apparently Daddy George convinced them at a young age that they were good. Prune said, “Connie, you just have to try one. Even if you don’t like it, you won’t vomit.” That wasn’t something that really encouraged me. My response was, “I would prefer not to. I’m a texture person, and this texture is not to my liking.” I got sneers from the table. I know that it’s disrespectful to the cook to not eat or try the food. I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t be true to myself. I wish I got a picture of these things. I will find a picture online and post it. GAG.
Reading Recommendation: Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt.
Now I was expecting this book to be a tragic tail of a young Irish kid, which it is, but it is so full of humor. It’s so hard to laugh at what happens, but he has such hilarious spin on it. There is so much detail and it makes you wonder how this guy remembers so much about his childhood, but how could you not with all the misfortunes his family went through. It’s a rather ambitious read with 500 pages. There is a follow-up book called ‘Tis.
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