A new brand of toilet paper has made itself at home in our bathroom. It's called "Quilted Northern," as if it were especially designed for camping trips during the freezing rains and howling gales of late November in New England; just another item to add to the list of seasonal chores to be completed before winter arrives:
1. Retrieve woolens and heavy coats from storage.
2. Insulate the windows with thermo-seal.
3. Chop firewood.
4. Buy a family pack of Quilted Northern.
And, alas, winter is nearly upon us. Persephone's bags are packed and she is preparing to make her way to Hades for half the year. Which is why, having missed most of the summer with my heart surgery, I'm going to recreate June by seeking the sun wherever it still shines.
So next week, rather than traipse around to the cardiologist's office or the rehabilitation center as usual, I thought I'd make an excursion to the Greek islands instead. After all, what can be better for your heart than tramping up and down zillions of steps as you attempt to find your hotel in a maze of whitewashed buildings clinging to the cliff side, especially after a grueling, stressful flight from Boston via London and Athens. Still, there will be a healthy Aegean meal of fish heads in sour yogurt and squid ink waiting for me, along with a glass of that Santorini wine they ferment from strange grapes that grow on circular vines in the volcanic ground.
Interestingly, toilet paper looms large in the legend of Greek vacations, although I'm sure they don't sell black market Quilted Northern at the local Agora. Toilet paper, it seems, cannot be flushed down the toilet, and must be placed in appropriate receptacles instead. Beware of Greeks bearing plumbing supplies, apparently! How odd that Athenian engineers could master the Doric column but not the plastic u-bend pipe.
Nevertheless, I refuse to allow such hygienic inconveniences to ruin my delayed summertime. I shall be soaking up the rays and sampling the moussaka regardless. And, obviously, I will not be too concerned with updating this blog for the duration of my vacation, either. So do not worry if nothing more appears here until October the tenth or so. I am not dead, but merely wondering what happens if you drink ouzo and then swallow a dose of Crestor on an empty stomach.