Marching On

 Life ebbs and flows. Yesterday we were at a funeral of a close friend.

After the church and interment everyone gathers at the cafeteria next to the graveyard, beside the sea, for a small Greek coffee, mastiha liqueur and a sweet biscuit. 

I didn't wait around to witness the burial. Arm in arm with my daughter I retreated to the café, out of the cold. 

It's a chance for everyone, as they leave the Cafe, to pay their respects to the mourning family and wish the deceased a peaceful ever-after, 

or a long life to the family that remains that they may keep his/her memory alive.

Those that linger on, close family and friends usually, stay for soup and wine.

Sometimes it's meat soup.  This time it was fish soup, served with platters of the boiled fish and vegetables. With plenty of wine.

It was delicious but I put too much pepper in the soup and had to wash each spoonful down with some wine. I drank just a little more than I intended. But I'm not on a restricted diet . Just a restricted lifestyle.

The church was freezing and the constant stand-up-sit-down tired me out. Everytime it's stand-up time: for the appearance of the priest from his sanctuary, for the sending of clouds of  incense from the big swinging burner, or for a prayer, K nudges me in case I'm inattentive. In the end I decided I was a recovering patient and stayed seated. 

RIP Petros