WHISTLE A HAPPY TUNE…

It had been such a long drawn out cold winter. Our White Mountain range, running the length of Chania, appeared to be closing in on us as snow fell steadily lower and lower on its slopes, layers and layers building up… glazed and glaringly white almost blinding under a winter’s sun. When the winds swirled over its glacial peaks they brought a stream of sharp icy currents down to the lowlands that nipped our ears and pinched our cheeks and noses. I started off by wearing a woolly cap that flattened my hair and gave me permanent bad hair days. Then I switched to using my hood that blocked my vision on the sides like blinkers or just flew off my head when the winds got gusty. I could have pulled the cords and secured it flat on my head…but  NO! NO! I preferred to battle with it and besides, vanity had raised my thresholds of endurance. Then March, all puffed out and belligerent swept in with a vengeance, with winter clinging to its mantle. We had temperatures plummeting to 3 degrees C with hailstones raining down like pellets and winds howling on the roofs and shaking the trees. There is a Greek saying about this month…`Martis kdartis paluko kaftis’…In essence it means that blustery March can wreak havoc… rip off your skin and ice burn the fence posts.

It was already approaching the end of March and the skin ripper was still relentless. It was getting so dispiriting waking up in the morning to a dark frowning sky and the rain hammering down and being fed with such dismal news of the war on the internet…that I groped for the self-help books that sister number two had given me with her prophetic words…`You might need them someday.’…I flicked through the pages hoping that some guru would help me rise above all this negative energy…And then… there it was!…My fingers were trembling with excitement when this Swami Somebody said…`just whistle a happy tune.’ It was so simple and WOW I could do that! In fact I listen to music on the radio every morning when I’m cooking or bustling around the house. But alas on these dreary days the music was equally soulful…some weeping ballads and Tom Jones with a full-throated sob in his voice singing…`I, I who have nothing, I, I who have no one…’ and Dolly Parton whining…`Jolene Jolene don’t take my man away…’ What I needed was something rattling with good cheer that would shake off all those negative bits sticking to my aura. And then… I got it!!! But I’d have to take you to the past first, down memory lane.

When we were in secondary school, when the bell rang in the afternoon at half past one, we didn’t go home. The nuns were determined to hammer into us an all round education and so sent us marching off to after-school activities…History, Debating, Nature Study, Red Cross, Drama, Arts, Sports, Music etc. Then before Sports Day, for months we were sent out to the athletics field under the sweltering tropical sun to practise for the various competitions. For those of us who were hopeless at sports…me being one of them…we were forced to participate in the March Past in preparation for the Opening Ceremony…stomping our feet left right left right, round and round the great big field to the beat of some colonial ceremonial march music that boomed from the speakers. When we were ready to drop, we were sent home. We dragged ourselves to the bus station and stood staring vacantly in groups… but made an instantaneous recovery, chatting and giggling in animated voices when we eyed the boys from the neighbouring schools. Gradually the bus station filled up with office workers and factory workers all impatient to hop on the bus and get home. Just then this guy who worked at the music shop facing the bus station…would catch us unawares. He would turn on the speakers full blast and play The Laughing Song by Whoopie John Wilfahrt with a jolly polka beat and a chorus that let rip with rippling laughter…`hahahahahah….’ peaking in a screaming…`ahhhhhh hahahahaha…’ He played it over and over again until we coughed out stifled laughter and then our bellies trembled and we shook our shoulders and then it became so contagious that we were in stitches and laughing hysterically with perfect strangers.

So that my friends was the happy tune I played on You Tube right after breakfast on that grey March morning. It’s a silly and unsophisticated song that doesn’t require a reason to laugh…and it’s so infectious. Yiannis heard it from the bathroom and came out laughing, looking like Santa Claus with his face covered in shaving foam and we both snorted out even more merriment. So the guru was right. It did turn my energy around and…what the heck…March was drawing to an end, blowing its blustery self out and April was just around the corner.  On the last day of March I nipped over to my mother-in-law’s place and exclaimed with delight that I was looking forward to April…warm sunshine riding on cool breezes and the sweet scents of fruit blossoms…lemons oranges and apricots. But she raised one of her 97 year old eyebrows and gave me that… `DIDN’T YOU KNOW’ look and said in a matter-of-fact voice and manner that…our unfriendly frigid March had 15 MORE DAYS to go according to the old Orthodox Greek calendar. The Georgian lady who looked after her, whose hands were all floury with the dough she was rolling out for a fresh batch of cheese pies, nodded in assent. This reminds me of another Greek saying…when you’ve eaten the whole scabby donkey, it’s the tail that’s the most difficult to gnaw through. And I thought I had chewed and gulped down the whole bony tail and now… they were telling me there was still more to swallow…fifteen more days of tail to swallow!

Well this brings me to another similar incident. Many years ago when we were a young family, we went off on holiday in summer to Egypt. The guide dragged us around to all the ancient monuments in the blistering heat. By the time we reached the Temple of Karnak on the banks of the Nile, on the very last day, we felt and looked like those ancient mummies, all desiccated and dried out. We stood around in the dry desert heat that sat on our heads like a ton of bricks and stared with glazed eyes at the towering columns as the guide pointed out the hieroglyphs etched into its stone, all brown and pocked…Were we listening?…No…How could we? We were withering in that airless temple and some of the older ladies had slid down the columns and plopped onto the floor. Just then our tireless guide boomed out…` And now we’re going to…’…`YOU GO!’…cried out hoarsely, one of the wilting ladies slumped on the floor….And that was just how I felt about the old calendar and fifteen more days of chewing on the donkey’s tail…`You can both go with the old calendar but I’m sticking with the new one!’  I said somewhat assertively and walked out and they called after me…`Hey come back and take these cheese pies. They’ve just come out of the oven!’…I did a quick volte face and marched back in and carried away my compensation, the piping hot pies and I heard muffled laughter behind my back.

Well that’s all for now. We’re going away to Brussels again for the Easter break and hopefully I’ll be back with more interesting news.

Cheers!