A weekend of updates are overdue. I cannot describe how oppressive the heat has been for the past few days nor how good it felt to have three raindrops fall on my arms this afternoon. The weather is supposed to break in the next couple of days and bring in a few days of 'cool' weather.

Friday night Miah and I went to the embassy with a couple of the other new teachers. It was a farewell party for one of the Marines who had received transfer orders, and although we had nothing to do with it, we were invited by one of the embassy wives who teaches at ACS.

What a feeling to walk up the busy Athenian sidewalks and see, next to the music hall, a giant complex of concrete with the American flag waving. The security getting into the building was slow, and we had to wait in a holding area until an escort came to pick us up. It was easy to tell we were at an American party as soon as we stepped onto the grounds because the smell of charcoal and sizzling meat wafted everywhere. Towheaded children ran around in shorts and Tevas while parents laughed loudly and talked about getting packages from Amazon through the APO. Fortunately we knew a couple of the wives who work at the school and so had someone to talk to. The ambassador introduced himself to us and chatted briefly in the banal way that diplomats and politicians do then slipped away. The gunnery sergeant, Steve, was the quintessential Marine: 6-foot-odd tall, a waist like a ballerina and shoulders like a footballer, a loud and confident voice which threw out military acronyms and accolades constantly, and a foul mouth that filled the complex.

I've never been particularly interested in the machine of war since I stopped playing with GI Joes in elementary school (okay, maybe high school). The mentality of those who join the forces isn't something which I can comprehend, and as such I felt a strain as I interacted with the Marines while playing foosball and chatting over Beam and Coke. They were polite, I was polite, yet I knew if they had any inkling of how mysterious their committment to this vast machine was to me, the conversation would be over. It's not something we can sit and talk about over dinner; the antithetical gulf is too great. I can't even say that I respect or admire what they do--and PLEASE don't stop reading there--because how can I honestly say I respect what I don't understand. It's too easy to say "Support the troops" without thinking, and I don't want to say something I don't mean. Of course I appreciate the freedom the US forces provide me, and I appreciate the sacrifices that have been made for myself and for millions around the world. At the same time, there are millions who appreciate the sacrifices made by people who fought/fight against the US. It's all games we've played and will continue to play because we don't know any other way. We need those men and women with that drive to action to protect us from other people who are exactly like them.

I know that sounds quite harsh and isn't the most cogent observation, but it was what was running through my mind as the sergeant gave a plaque to the departing Marine for performing the service of playing the role well. Regardless of how hard I tried, I couldn't understand what was behind it all.

Saturday was a slow day at home, sweating like mad and hoping for any breeze. Miah went out with some of the girls to a restaurant that night while I went with a couple of guys to play games at someone's house. It was a fun night that ended with me trying to figure out at which metro station I had been dropped. They all look the same at night, and the Acropolis isn't quite tall enough to be a landmark. Oh, and we went grocery shopping Saturday morning. We bought some shrimp and a whole frozen fish who is now staring at us each time we open the freezer. He looks like Dori. Grocery shopping here has shown me how stupid people are in their interactions with immigrants: talking to me more in Greek when I'm shaking my head isn't going to make me learn it any faster.

Sunday was even slower than Saturday, but it was good. I had planned on going into school to do work, but that never happened. I think that's going to happen often. Our house has become the place to come if you want to talk to family over Skype, so from 6:30 until 11:45 there were people in our living room and guest room talking to family.

School is settling down somewhat, but there are still a lot of things for me to iron out with the ESL programs. There are changes happening, and last week was a week of drama. I hate drama. There's new leadership with experienced teachers, two things which rarely mix well. All I know is that I'm in desperate need of a good text for intensive middle school ESL. Desperate. I have no idea what I'm doing tomorrow morning.

Okay, I've chronicled the Greece thing enough for now, so I'm going to indulge and mention some TV. Miah and I spent quite a bit of time this last year watching an HBO show called The Wire. The Baltimore-set show deals with the reality of ghetto life, inner-city schools, blue-collar workers, and politicians with an ingenious stroke of harshness and cynicism. We have one more episode to watch of the fifth and final season. The characters have touched us so much in their journeys through the stories, and I found myself incredibly moved in the episode we just watched in which a former drug addict celebrates his AA anniversary. Stories of redemption are common enough in all media, but to go back through 50 hours of television and remember the first moment when he was on screen with a needle and then see him standing timid but proud was perhaps the finest arc I've ever experienced. Of course the show, being as gritty as it is, had a smart but hopeless 16-year-old boy stepping up to fill the shoes of the drug addict as he walked into the darkened doorway of a drug den.

On that dark note--and before I become too emotional--I wish everyone a great week!