A Greek tale

Sometimes in our tiny essence of time, all we really need is a kind touch, a baby's whispered breath of hope and the knowledge that we somehow matter to the ever revolving world around us.

There are things in life that I am happy to share. Kind words, a bite to eat, a helping hand, the clothes off my back, my last dollar, a listening ear, advice to a friend or stranger if they are open to it. Sometimes I offer advice that is rejected and then I am ignored. It should not matter much, I just really wanted to be of some assistance. Truthfully though, no one wants to be ignored, no one wants to see a few people advance, while they are working just as hard to be included in the rat race which has always been an unfortunate trait of human beings.

The hardest things to ever share, by far, are the stories that come from deep within our hearts, the personal kind that once written down, and shared, cannot be taken back. The kind that no one can really change or soothe, but even a few words of comfort goes a long way towards the healing process. I know you understand what I mean.

I needed a vacation, far away from the maddening crowd. I needed to regroup, refresh and rewind, so I spent my entire savings on an exotic trip to southeastern Europe.

My name is Melodie, I am single, five feet two inches tall, with long black natural hair and a stubborn streak. My age is still better kept to myself, I like what I like, and I get what I get. What I do with what I get is really up to me.

This gorgeous day found me sitting on a very comfortable throne on the tiny tropical holiday island of Almeda in Greece, idly digging my bare toes into the warm summer sand and taking in the breathtaking day. I just wanted to be alone. There were stories in my head that had to be written and so I made a spur of the moment decision to leave all my electronic gadgets at home and use old fashioned pen and paper instead. This beautiful sunshiny day was too wonderful to waste being inside with a computer or phone. So I packed a small picnic basket, sunshades, towel, suntan lotion and a large frozen bottle of water which had been in the freezer all night. It would melt slowly as I needed it.

I made the rather long walk to the beach, wearing a mid length loose summer frock over my swimsuit, comfy walking shoes, an attractive fedora to shield my face from direct sunlight, and donned my sunglasses for the perfect vacation effect. I felt really great, ready to flex my literary muscles. I got to the beach, removed my shoes as the sandy beach beckoned for toes to be wiggled in her golden sandscape. What better way to write about a people than to be right there among the people, all the noise and cacophony went into making my story very real.

Greece has mild winters and wonderful summers, just what I needed right now. I sat totally absorbed in writing, the warm sun smilingly shining down on me under a queenly beach throne adorned with a feathery roof and silken curtains all around me. The silk is a bit of an exaggeration, but it sure felt like silk to me. It was a rental, but It made me feel self loved.

So preoccupied was I in my work, I was completely startled when the huge brown brute of a dog came bounding over, almost tumbling me from the chair, his black cold nose poked up against my face. Now I am not much of a dog person, I prefer the feline types, and this sucker was so huge and gangly, I could hardly maintain my balance. An older, rather handsome gentleman came hurrying over on the heels of the commotion, apologizing profusely.

" Marmaduke stop.Oh my, I am so very sorry for the ill manners of my dog. Marmaduke, stop". He repeated, as the mountain of a dog started licking my face. He really did have a stark resemblance to the TV dog of long ago.

"Marmaduke"? I laughed, trying to put the gentleman at ease, although I had been completely taken by surprise and felt totally grossed out. Ugh! Dog spit. I really prefer cats, so don't judge me. I got a tissue and wiped the slobber off my face, while the dog sat salivating very noisily.

"He is just as big and clumsy as the fella in the old shows. Believe me it is hard to keep him leashed. Still, he is a great companion to me these days. I must apologize again". He insisted.

"Please, don't worry about it. What breed of dog is he anyway, he sure is huge". I enquired, trying to be polite.

"He is a Great Dane, just like his namesake, and just as raucous".

"Hello, Marmaduke. I am Melodie, good to meet you". I reached out my hand, slowly warming to this curious creature. Before I could be properly introduced however, the huge dog was galloping away, chasing after a child with a ball. Curiouser and curiouser.

"That is my grandson, Rafe. Hello Melodie, my name is Wilkin". I offered my hand to him also, we shook after he turned his attention back from the dog and the child. I am happy that he didn't race off after Marmaduke.

I read up on my etiquette, which states that a gentleman should wait until his female acquaintance offered her hand before offering his. Such was good mannerly behavior. I am unsure if that still stands written in stone, women have long stepped over such delicate boundaries and are charting their own rules. Nevertheless, I showed respect to the very distinguished looking, kind faced gentleman.

Wilkin was tall, at least six feet two inches. Looking to be in his late sixties, still his shoulders stood straight and tall. He was greying at the temples, which gave an air of mystery, experience and genuine honesty to his manner. His dark eyes held you spellbound and seemed to see right through you. Dressed casually in black slacks and button up t-shirt and sandals, a still handsome face crowning his figure, he had quite the swag, as the younger generation might say. I think!

"Pardon me, but may I ask, are you a writer. I noticed you frantically scribbling away at your notes. Very unusual to see anyone your age, actually anyone these days using pen and ink".

I laughed again at his words.

"I am not really that young anymore, but thanks for the compliment. Yes I am dabbling in the world of writing, I hope to write some short stories and eventually a book. Why do you ask, are you a writer too? Where are my manners, would you like to sit"?

He looked towards the dog and the little boy, more adults were gathered around them now. He agreed to sit for a little while to talk about writing, he turned again and waved to the group, and they waved back. His family, he said.

I had been struggling as a writer. Finding a good publisher was proving to be a pain these days. A few had looked at my work, but I had not yet heard back from them. Still, I was not allowing that to daunt my spirits. I would keep writing until the perfect opportunity presented itself. I explained all this to Wilkin as we sat and chatted.

"Maybe I could take a look at something that you have written. I owe you at least that much for Marm's bad manners". He offered.

"Do you know much about writing and publishing"? I asked him, a little doubtful about allowing a total stranger to judge my work.

"Have you heard of Clarence Wilkin Publishing"? He asked off handedly.

"What. Are you THAT Clarence Wilkin. You are kidding? Right"!

"Yes, I am, well Clarence, not kidding. Although I am retired, and my son and daughter now run the company. I am more of a silent partner and consultant these days".

Clarence Wilkin and Associates Publishing House, was one of the largest publishing companies in the world. Could my luck have turned in the simple act of meeting a large and very friendly dog called Marmaduke, on a beach in the middle of nowhere.

"Not to seem boastful, but I own this little getaway island. We always spend our summers here. Maybe luck has brought us together for a reason. Let me have something which you have written, and we will see where it takes us".

I dug into my carryall bag for a copy of a story I had just completed. He took it, unclipped his glasses from where it hung on the buttons of his t-shirt and sat back comfortably to read.

As I waited in acute anticipation for him to finish reading, I stood up to have a look around, taking in the lovely scenery helped keep my nerves steady. Could I really be in the right place at the right time?

The day was truly idyllic. Clear blue-green water reflected the midday sunshine, and the gentle waves rolled up to the increasing tideline. The waves pause as they reach the shoreline, then slowly roll back in an ever repeating soothing motion.

Here and there, trees are waving silently, as the sun hovers above like a yellow balloon on the distant horizon. There are mostly palm tress and smaller green vegetation hugging the mountain sides, watching over the golden carpets of sand forming a wonderful magical landscape.

Children of all ages, sizes and pursuits frolic in the sand, running giggling and building sand castles, while the water crashes in to melt the sand away. Barefooted beachgoers hop along the warm stones as the sun becomes hotter and hotter. Screaming teenagers can be seen and heard diving, hollering and splashing each other in the frothy rolling waters. Seagulls screech overhead as a soft soothing breeze rustles through your hair.

Further along the horizon, beach shops are busy accommodating excited, bustling customers, all preparing to enjoy a most glorious sunny day. The smell of delicious food reminded one of the lunch hour fast approaching.

"Grandpa. Grandpa. It is time for lunch. Grandmother says that you should come now". The young child from before yelled his message and raced back to his family, Marmaduke in tow.

"No patience with the young ones. Would you like to come for lunch with us. I would really like to finish reading this very interesting work".

"ΕΥΧΑΡΙΣΤΩ, thank you". I replied. He laughed at my terrible pronunciation.

I accepted the offer. My own lunch could wait. Opportunity had reared her lovely head. The family was charming, except for a few of the younger ones who seemed a bit sulky about a total stranger invading their privacy. I felt mostly welcome. I graciously accepted lunch and had a most delicious fare. I was invited back to the family summer home later that evening, with the firm assurance of a decision to work with me on my literary journey.

Wilkin based his decision mainly on the fact that I had chosen to use old fashioned pen and paper on that gorgeous sunny afternoon, instead of doing what everyone else was doing, sitting immersed in their phones and what nots, he said. I am so glad that I had that little inspiration on that particular day.

My work had a lot of potential I was told, and they would work with me to perfect my stories which were well written and in touch with the times. They were actually looking for new talent, so my timing was opportune for all parties involved.

I spent the rest of my two short weeks of vacation sailing and sightseeing with the family, and became great friends with Watkin and Marmaduke.

So began a new chapter in my life, thanks to a dog named Marmaduke and a chance meeting on a very lucky Mediterranean beach.

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ΕΥΧΑΡΙΣΤΩ (Thank you) for reading.