End of the Line: Last Nation

 I promise you that the English speaking version of the metro at our station said End of the Line: Last Nation.  I heard it several times.  It made me smile.  The crowd however made me sweat.  I told Kim that 6:30 is not a good time to be on the metro.  We were packed like sardines and the air became very thin.  We had just visited METAdrasi on the south side of Athens.  This NGO was started by a woman who started her organization from the ground up and now has several hundred employees.  They help people with Greek, with work skills and started a dormitory for un-accompanied minors but has expanded it to single mothers and their children.  She said one of the biggest needs was interpreters.  Honest interpreters. 

Greek class

The Greek class was in session when we stepped in.  They called out where they were from: Cameroon, Iraq, Ukraine, Afghanistan, Egypt, Philippines, and probably more that I can't remember.  They all waved and thanked us for the things we were supporting that enabled them to have class.  

I picked a pomegranate off the tree in our front court yard.  I just couldn't stand it anymore.  It wasn't ripe but it was still good.  Yipee for cooler weather.  I have switched from summer to winter P.J.'s