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New Orleans, 1998
Written by Calliope Pappadakis   
Wednesday, 15 October 2014 13:10

May New Orleans

“In other places, culture comes down from on high.  In New Orleans, it bubbles up from the streets.” ~Ellis Marsalis

Written by Calliope Pappadakis   
Tuesday, 14 October 2014 09:07

Puerto Plata 2012Her way out was down winding and broken steps, those like the tucked-in stairs along the hilly side of a Greek island town.

All the way, sensing the salt and remembering the seaweed that clung to her arms as a girl. At times nearly freefalling in her quick pace to the place where warm sand and old seas meet.

No hand rail, just glances from children who played on the small verandas between the sets of steps, lined with elongated terracotta planters with bright pink and yellow flowers that might have bloomed the whole year through, except for Hades’ desperate wife-needing.

She didn’t stop, though sometimes she wondered what it may have been like had she slowed for a cup of coffee with the man whose skin is a sun-smeared brown, who sits out on the weathered wooden folding chair smoking a 4pm cigarette whose curls of smoke dance upward to his goats on the hillside above who need a milking. Might she have learned to smoke or sit?

She could have run into the dress shop whose vendor was always out sweeping her entryway with an old broom and a bent back. Around her soft belly that had carried four babies she wrapped a faded and threadbare red apron and sometimes stopped to wipe her hands on it, pausing to notice how low the sun had moved toward the horizon. She might have learned to slow and sew.

The front entrance to the shop was open every time she ran past it and smells of sandalwood, lemon, and dill tempted her nose as she dodged going inside and looked instead toward the sea.

Written by Calliope Pappadakis   
Thursday, 24 October 2013 18:35

In my travels hither and thither, I take pictures of my journey usually focusing on land and seascapes, creatures of all kinds, and I didn't realize it until recently, but also my feet. They comment on the context of outing: the season, the walking, the landscape. Here are a few I recently unburied from folders...

Nascar Feet


There she was
Written by Calliope Pappadakis   
Thursday, 11 April 2013 14:34

Spring emerges. New. Timeless. Slow. Unfurling.

Spring Vista

Poplarville 2005
Written by Calliope Pappadakis   
Saturday, 12 January 2013 11:09

The roof to the chicken house is caved in from Katrina, like aluminum foil covering yesterday’s casserole dish, sagging into the half-empty space once filled with layers of sustenance. I was three, climbing over the burly Oak roots in front of the door to the chicken house, clutching Momo's wispy cotton apron that hung from her waist, keeping an eye out for rambunctious roosters.

Spanakopita & Tiropita
Written by Calliope Pappadakis   
Monday, 23 November 2009 21:42

One is spinach + cheese and the other is cheese. They are both fantabulous, oozing with butter and they are two of my favorite things to make and eat. They are Greek finger foods, small triangles of crispy bliss. A bit labor intensive, but totally worth it.

Cheese and Spinach Pies - Done!