Date: February 2, 2007
Author: margaritagakis
Categories: madrant
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Mad Rant

There is no underlying topic to this rant – just the randomness of my brain. . .

What’s going on in the world today? It seems like depression is on the rise, apathy is on the rise, malcontent is on the rise. Why? Generally, don’t we have it easier than any generation before us? I wasn’t sold into servitude at the ripe age of 12, I wasn’t married off in a pre-arranged ceremony to a groom I had never met. I wasn’t only given the choice of being a teacher or a nurse because of my gender. I don’t have to bake bread over a wood fire, or unravel a sweater so I can reknit it for a child that’s grown. Are we any unhappier than those who came before us, or is this what happens when your basic needs of survival (water, food, shelter) are met?

There’s also this need for a weird sort of full disclosure. Relative strangers will tell you about their medical problems, their mental problems, their sex lives. . .but ask someone what size pants they wear and you’re likely to get the cold shoulder. Celebreties are the worst. They’ll have full spreads in magazines telling the world about their drug abuse, childhood trauma or the personal details of their relationships, but remained close lipped or lie when it comes to their age or whether or not they’ve had plastic surgery.

Where’s it all leading? What kind of world am I going to wake up in tomorrow? Will I be getting botox and cutting all the labels out of my pants? Will I tell more about myself to the stranger on the bus than I do my family and friends? Will I care?

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Date: January 28, 2007
Author: margaritagakis
Categories: dad, family, greek
Comments: 3 Replies


Stranger in a Strange Land
My dad died in August. He was Greek and growing up, we’d learn a bit of Greek here and there. To be sure, I can tell you that I love baklava and tiropita. I can say ‘hello, how are you’ and ‘I am fine’ – y’know, the basics. But I was definately raised to be Canadian. Dad was Greek Orthodox, although he wasn’t what you would call a religious man. My mum is Roman Catholic, and we were raised Catholic and went to Catholic school. But when Dad died, we wanted to give him a Greek Orthodox funeral, but also for his sisters, who are VERY religious. It seems like everytime I go to visit Thea Doxa (my aunt) , she’s fasting for something or other. Thea Freida (another aunt) who lives in Greece, used to go to Grandma’s grave everyday after she died – I think for years. And when in Greece, we had candles regularly slapped into our unknowing hands and we would light them and then place them in the little monument, or in the sand at a church – not really knowing what we were doing or why.

So when Dad died, we called the Greek Orthodox priest and asked him to reccomend a funeral home and we relied on him and Dad’s Greek friends until Doxa and Freida could fly in from Greece (where Doxa was visiting when Dad passed away). And now it seems like everytime I turn around, I’m learning more than I knew before. There has been many ‘funeral’ type memorial services for Dad. Obviously we had a funeral, then we had one forty days after he died and there is another one today, for the six month mark. Before the forty day service, Doxa invited us over for the evening. Jenge and I went, assuming we’d have Coke, sit and mix with the Greek ladies and then go home. But at 8 o’clock that night Doxa said, “As soon as the other ladies get here, we start.” Jenge and I looked at each other, eyebrows clearly saying “Start what?”

And then the Greek ladies arrived. Buckets of boiled wheat were brought out and dumped on a tablecloth on the table. A picture of my dad was brought out, a candle and some incense was lit. Tupperware containers with crushed almonds, slivered almonds, crushed peanuts, breadcrumbs, golden raisins, regular raisins, parsely, cinnamon, nutmeg, anise, and sesame were lined up. They were put in our hands and we were instructed (in half english half greek) to put it all on the wheat in the shape of a cross – three times each if possible). Jenge and I had no idea what we were doing! Then, when all the fixins were added, the Greek ladies picked up the table cloth and we mixed it by flipping the mixture over and over, ‘tossing’ it back and forth, using the tablecloth for leverage. It smelled wonderful and was tasted carefully by the ladies several times, with orders of “More cinnamon” “More almonds” “Get the rest of the anise” shouted out. There was lots of yelling and they argued, Greek style, about what was needed. Then it all got put into a white linen lined bucket, and another serving on a silver tray. It was carefully covered in granulated and powdered sugar, and then there was a flurry of discussion about how to decorate them. The bucket was painstakingly measured to find the exact center and then a cross was made with white covered almonds. Silver candies were placed all around, and then the edges were carefully wiped with brushes to dust off any stray powdered sugar.

I had just helped make my first Kollyva – or as Chant called it, Funeral Trail Mix. The Kollyva is set up at the front of the church during the memorial service and people can come up and place candles in the big bucket. Then, at the end of church, the candles are lit, and we each get our own candle as well while we stand in the pews. Afterward, the candles are all blown out and the men take the Kollyva to the gym (the community center is attached to the church) and mix it all up in a big bin. It gets dolled out in little paper pastry bags and everyone takes some, and a spoon and then sits around and has coffee, greek cookies and for the family, a shot of Metaxa.

Last night, we went back to Doxa’s and did it all over again, Ann and my newphews in tow. And although I knew what to expect this time, I’m still in a sort of weird wondered state about what it all means. There’s a very strong sense of community, of gathering. And everyone has to put their two cents in. There was a big meal afterward, with tiropita, spanikopita, salad, ribs, fish, bread, cheese and wine. I’m not sure, but I think we’ll do it again at the one year mark. It’s a good chance for me to practice my Greek and to make sure that I keep in touch with my dad’s side of the family, now that he’s gone. In a really weird way, now that he’s died, I feel like I’m learning more about what it meant for him to be Greek than I learned when he was alive. I guess I always thought I’d have more time. But then, don’t we all.

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Date: January 27, 2007
Author: margaritagakis
Categories: portia
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Everything I need to know about life, I’m learning from my dog.

Lesson 1: If you see something you want, don’t give up till you get it.
Learned By: Watching her try to get one kibble out from underneath the stove for two days

Lesson 2: If you need a hug, don’t be shy.
Learned By: Having her jump on me at 6 am and then throw her 50lb body down and rest her face in my neck.

Lesson 3: Stick to your guns.
Learned By: Hearing her punch the door for twenty minutes, despite being told she doesn’t need to go out.
Lesson 4: If you wanna be energetic when you’re awake, nap as much as you can. Preferably in a nice sunny patch.
Learned By: the number of naps she takes in a day and the amount of energy she has.
Lesson 5: If you can’t be good, be good-looking.
Learned By: How often she ‘turns on the cute’ when in trouble.
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Date: January 25, 2007
Author: margaritagakis
Categories: family
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When you need someone to tell you like it is!
We all need that someone in our lives who isn’t going to take any crap, isn’t going to fall for your excuses, and isn’t going to let you sugar coat it anymore!
For me, I’ve got two peeps who fit this bill. They are 7 and 4 years old. They are my nephews.
The other day I was driving the 7 year old to skating lessons. I had put a towel down on the backseat to keep him from getting covered in dog hair, as my car is also a doggie taxi for Portia. I also commute for about two hours a day, so I have coffee cups, water bottles, sandwhich bags, candy wrappers, some grocery bags, maybe a shopping catelogue or two, an umbrella and several old travel mugs in my car (NB – this doesn’t include the contents of my trunk – whole other blog).
When I opened the backdoor for my nephew I saw him look in the car and pause. I jokingly said, “Auntie Gita has a lot of stuff in her car, eh?”
He turned to face me and said, “Yeah, looks like a lot of junk!”
Truth hurts, mes amis. Truth hurts.
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Date: January 13, 2007
Author: margaritagakis
Categories: Uncategorized
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Let me tell you!

Let me tell you about my obsession with Sean Bean. It is fierce! Ya know, normally, I’m not into historical war stuff but I have seen every installment of the Sharpe series simply because Sean plays Sharpe. (example here). I rooted for him in Goldeneye even when he was a bad guy, I rented Silent Hill for the sole purpose of seeing him. I’ve watched Anna Karenina a dozen times because he’s in it. I never wanted Boromir to try to steel the ring from Frodo in LOTR even though I had read the book! But why oh why does he regularly play a bad guy? In his upcoming film, The Hitcher, Sean is once again our resident baddie. I’ll have to go see it just so I can ogle him, but I’m dying for him to play a romantic hero! Dammit!

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Date: January 10, 2007
Author: margaritagakis
Categories: Uncategorized
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Is David Caruso the new William Shatner?
Think about it. The strange pauses in dialogue. The showboating of lines. The vogueing for the camera. The thing is, when Shatner did it, it was all fun! It was like he was in on the joke. I don’t think Caruso is in on the joke. Jenge and I watch CSI: Miami sometimes when there is nothing else on and I turned to her one day and said, “can you imagine how annoying it would be to live with Horatio Cane [Caruso’s character]?”
Horatio Cane in deep monotone, serious voice: What’s for dinner?
Margarita: Stuffed peppers.
Cane in deep monotone serious voice: We’ll see about that. [pushes sunglasses on face and storms upstairs]
Honestly, you’d go mad.
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Date: December 31, 2006
Author: margaritagakis
Categories: Uncategorized
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Return to the Valley of the Dolls – by Squirrelly Girly and Portia


Scene begins – Jenge has just gone upstairs while Margarita sips her coffee on the sofa. . .

J (from upstairs): What medication did you have in your room?
M(sits up like a shot): No! She didn’t!
J: She did. What was it and how many did you have in the bottle?
M: Umm, I dunno, 30? but I’ve taken some.
J: Kay, I got 26.
M: Call the vet! I don’t think she ate any, but we can’t be sure!
J(on phone with vet, covers mouthpiece and speaks to M): She has to come in and throw up.
M: How much is that gonna cost me?
J: Dunno, but since we can’t be positive she didn’t’ eat them, she has to come in.

Later that day, at the vet’s. . .
Vet: Looks like she didn’t eat any of them, or if she did, didn’t ingest any full capsules. All we found was kibble, a cookie and some black plastic.
– side note: It was “Underworld Evolution” Later found chewed up in my room.

Portia had to spend most of the day at the vet getting her vitals checked every hour, but has since returned home. Apparently she busted into the pills and was more interested in destroying the prescription bottle than actually eating its contents. That dog is going to give me a heart attack!

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Date: December 19, 2006
Author: margaritagakis
Categories: Uncategorized
Comments: 1 Reply


Doggie Dope Dealer

As you know, Rocky is extremely high strung. I can’t laugh during tv shows as it sets of a five minute non stop stream of barking and pacing. I also can’t sneeze, move to quickly or pet Portia too long as it sets off another barking fit. So, at our last trip to the vet, Jenge talked to the vet about this problem and she recommended an herbal mixture for dogs that is supposed to calm him down. He gets three servings a day.

So, is it working? Tough to say, but the stoner doggie jokes are flying fast and furious around her. Is he calmer? Who can tell? He’s wound so tightly that even if he were to calm down by 50% you might not see it. But last night I was able to chuckle quietly to myself and he didn’t bark, so fingers crossed!

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Date: December 15, 2006
Author: margaritagakis
Categories: Uncategorized
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Working at the CarWash!
So the other day, as I was driving down Crowchild Trail, the sun was shining brightly and it was a gorgeous, bright, winter day.

Too bad my windows were so dirty that I couldn’t see squat out of them.

I had pushed it too far, left it too long. Nope. Not even a trip to the gas station and some lovin’ from the squeegee would save me this time.

It was time. Time for a carwash.

I love the carwash, and so I’m surprised how long it always takes me to get there. I’ve always got other things I need to do. Groceries, coffee stop, work, running late. I never seem to have time. But the other night, I decided, enough was enough. When you can’t tell if your headlights are on because they are so dirty, it’s time to go.

Going to the carwash makes me feel happy, like a child. It’s loud and there’s lots of stuff going on, but it’s all pleasantly muffled from the safe interior of my car. Although, now that I am an adult, there is an added level of suspense: Did I close all the windows? What about the back one that’s a little dodgy? Will it hold??

But it does and then the pretty colored foam gets sprayed on and I try to find exactly where it is that it turns pink and green, but I’m only ever able to catch it if I let my eyes drift over the entire windsheild. Scrutinize one point too hard, and you’ll miss it. I splurged on the luxury wash, which I consider a deal at 8 bucks. Nothin’ too good for my baby!

And now my car is bright and shiny and I’m busting with pride as I stare down at it in the parking lot. Do yourself a favour. Take yourself to the carwash today!

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