2 2. Julie's birthday

Summer in Greece meant to Julie not only the time of relax, sea, sun and family but also the time of her birthday. It was on July, the 23rd.

This year she turned 15 years old and she felt it was something important.

All her birthdays were celebrated on the island with her family. It was a special day for all, considering that she was the only child of the family.

Until her father was there, they were like rituals.

The day began early in the morning with a special breakfast in the courtyard prepared by grandpa Giorgios: fresh-baked bread with slices of figs picked from the garden, together with crispy pieces of dark chocolate, dark tea and coffee.

Chocolate was not eaten every day in Julie's family; as usual in a greek family, honey was the sweetest cream that they had and used.

Chocolate was a special food, exotic and bitter.

After breakfast, Julie, mom and dad went out together for a walk outside the village, till the top of Minoa hill.

The little excursion was a two-hour winding path along the hill's slopes and Julie loved it. The sea that was usually in front of her, during this walk was under her feet and extended in all his blue majesty.

For little Julie it was the biggest thing ever seen in life. There was something 'magic'in it.

At the top of the hill, set between the rocks as if it had emerged with them, there was a little orthodox church with its typical white irregular walls, blue doors and windows.

The interior of the church was simple: all white, with a stone altar and a few chairs; along a wall a little part was reserved for the steaming incense and the yellow long candles. Each visitor entering into the church was used to leave a little donation, light a candle and insert it into the candle holder filled with sand. This created a small cloud of smoke in the room that disappeared reaching the roof.

The church of St.Mary was special for Julie's father before they went there together; it was the place where he usually went with his father for his birthday. During the hike they used to pick flowers, violet and yellow, to bring to the altar as a gift for the goddess. So did Julie with her mom and dad, repeating it every year.

Julie's parents weren't orthodox or religious people at all but they believed that it was some 'divine' spirit in all beautiful pure things and that it was worthy of being celebrated.

'Our life is a beautiful gift, like these flowers. Every year we receive a little more. As a sign of gratitude for this beauty, we give back flowers to the goddess' said Julie's father each time they reached the altar of St. Mary in the day of her birthday.

They lit a small candle, enjoyed the silence and went back.

For Julie it was a nice ritual, remembering her that life is beautiful and worthy, like a bunch of mountain flowers.

Once they came back, they followed the coast, the sun shining on them, the sea below. Sea and sky were so deep blue like they were painted from a painter's tablet, perhaps a god that every day chose its 'best' blue.

Julie, mom and dad spent the rest of the day at the beach, till evening.

They enjoyed the sun, the warm water and the fine white sand.

Julie and her father used to build little sandy houses to give temporary shelter to passing crabs. Or rather, that was the intent of Julie even though crabs preferred to pass by and go back to the hot saltwater.

The most intense moment of the day was the evening. All the family was around the table in the house garden, under the olive tree that since three generations watched over the family gathered under its fronds.

The birthday's dinner was waiting with particular joy because Eirini used to prepare each family member's favourite dish. It was her way to celebrate the 23rd of July.

For Julie rice rolls in vine leaves, for Julie's father a cream of broad beans, for Julie's mother goat cheese breaded in sesame and fried, for grandpa Giorgios chickpeas hummus and lastly, for Eirini and also for the whole family, a tray of potatoes baked with rosemary and laurel.

Smell of laurel began to appear in Julie's olfactive memories exactly on that time, under the olive tree of the garden.

The dessert was a homemade 'baklava', a sweet made of layers of pastry filled with nuts held together with honey. Julie usually ate a piece of it in a bowl full of white yogurt. It was the best, the 'essence' of a sweet.

These dinners became sweet memories when Julie's father died.

They were still repeated every year in the same way by grandma Eirini and grandpa Giorgios but without a member and, very soon, without Julie's mother who preferred to stay in France.

Only later, grandpa Giorgios left an empty place too.

On that 23rd of July, Julie turned 15 years old and she was alone with grandma Eirini under the olive tree. It was a calm evening, a faint wind was blowing, cicadas were singing loud for Julie's birthday.

The two women cooked together, Julie put enough laurel in the potatoes.

For the dessert, as usual, she observed the grandma who patiently, during the day, was baking the baklava for a total of six-hour preparation.

At the end of the dinner, normally, didn't come other gifts, it wouldn't have been easy for Julie to imagine what else she might have wished after the baklava bowl.

That day was different and a gift came.

Eirini went into the house and came out with a little package in her hands. The outside was a yellow paper that seemed to have been preserved for a long time.

'Julie, this is a very special birthday for you. Today you receive a gift..from the past. This package was made from your father. Inside there are letters that he wrote for you. When you were a 7-year-old child the package was handed to me, after the dinner here on the garden. Your dad asked me to wait for the same evening 8 years later to give it to you. That's the moment. Happy birthday my little girl'.

Julie couldn't believe what she was watching and listening to. What grandma Eirini had in her hands was a package from her dad, it was real. It seemed so.

It was a gift coming from the past and she had any idea what it could contain, what handwriting her father had.

She was too young when he died to remember how her father wrote.

Julie didn't hesitate to take the package from Eirini hands, observe it in all parts, handling with extreme care.

On the outermost part, in small handwritten red letters, there was 'FOR MY LITTLE JULIE. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD.'