Mulberry Jam

Naturally since the weather over the three-day holiday was not so good, today is just lovely. Sunny, blue sky and not horribly hot considering it’s July in Washington. The mulberries are finally fading after five weeks of creating their usual sticky, jammy mess on the front walk and street. I did get to make a batch of mulberry jam this year, and I think it turned out well. Now to decide who deserves one of the little labors of love. (Fritz, I’ve got one with your name on it, you lucky devil!)

This Spring raced by, filled with a heavy schedule of consulting and yoga teaching. At last the yoga studio session has finished, and I’m looking forward to a break from teaching. I’ve committed to just one class per week during July and August, which should allow a bit more breathing room in my weeks. I plan to use the extra time to catch up on some overdue writing projects, re-invest in my own personal yoga practice, and hopefully post to the Jam a bit more regularly. Most of all, I want to slow down and enjoy the summer by spending more time with friends and family.

We had the unexpected pleasure today of hosting our good friend and neighbor Chris Apostolou and his father for lunch. Chris’ father is a spry Greek gentleman with a gift for cooking. He’s sent many traditional pastries and other goodies our way through Chris, and today he finally accepted a long-standing invitation to drop in.

Mr. Apostolou emigrated to America from the mountains of central Greece in the early fifties, with no English and just $60 in his pocket. He’s a fantastic story-teller and an inveterate leg-puller. I was charmed to learn his name is Pericles! Greek names are so wonderful. I’ve met other Greek-Americans with names like Socrates or Athena. It’s enough to give a person a cultural inferiority complex.

We lingered over lunch for a couple of hours, listening and laughing over Mr. Apostolou’s stories of working as a haphazardly trained waiter at high class hotels like San Francisco’s Fairmont and Washington’s Mayflower in the fifties. His best punch line: “And how do you want your steak tartare done?”

If I worked in an office I’d never get to have lunches like that.