[The BYM peers at the book I'm reading, which happens to be Elizabeth David's A Book of Mediterranean Food)

Me, reading aloud: "Anyone who has lived for long in Greece will be familiar with the sound of air gruesomely whistling through sheep's lungs frying in oil."

Lui: I doubt they whistle.

Me: That's what the lady reports.

Lui: You need to go to [local Greek diner] and confirm it for yourself.

Me: I'm thinking they probably don't keep sheep lungs on hand.

Lui: They can't call themselves authentic if they don't have sheep lungs!

Me: And my clients think I'm a stickler?

---

Speaking of meat in Greece... (Athens Central Market, 2011):



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And then there's the meat that is here in Tennessee. When my friends James and Gail stopped in Nashville earlier this summer, they enjoyed the burgers and the phosphates at the Pharmacy. James can be credited for most of the good photos of me between age 10 and 17 (his camera was always with him, long before these iPhone-in-every-palm days), so it seems fitting that he snapped a nice shot of me and the BYM over dinner.

Athens, October 2011

The advent of fall has made me nostalgic for walks in and around markets where the people around me are speaking Greek or French, and where I feel triumphant at deciphering simple labels.



There's plenty to do, here at home. Thanksgiving will be here within the blink of an eye. There are plenty of markets and shops within a few miles of my house that I have yet to become acquainted with.



I'm greedy. I want to linger among my souvenirs of the past and steep fully in the present and get on with acquiring and sharpening the skills my future self needs in her toolbox.



And this is what the past and present tell me about the future: you will keep losing parts of yourself, and you will keep building on what remains.