Everyone has their own particular way of shutting down at the end of the day, and of falling asleep. For many years I had a hot soaking bath followed by a cup of cocoa. Then, I'd read for an hour before bedtime. (Sometimes, the kids or George would read to me!) But, the habit of reading for an hour has always been what I use to prepare for sleep.

I've traveled all over the world at bedtime, through the written narratives of people who explore and travel. They book the passage, pack their bags, and let me know just what surprises occurred along the way.

In one of the recent books I just finished, "Seasons in Basilicata", by David Yeadon, he describes going down into a little Greek village to purchase vegetables at the market. He was the typical jovial tourist, eager to try out the fresh tomatoes, zucchini and onions that an old woman sold from her garden. But as he negotiated the price, as is done there, she got more and more forlorn about relinguishing her precious tomatoes to a stranger. She told him not to purchase them, and clutched her hands together. It was like loosing a child to loose her tomatoes. Of course, I was delighted to hear this story, as oftentimes a gardener gets so caught up in promoting the growth of their crops that they despair of having to cook them. They want to look at them just awhile longer.

I can get so caught up in a good book, that I hate to see it end. That is what has recently happened with "Greek Style" by Suzanne Slesin, a wonderful picture-book of interiors.
For a month I studied every image, researching the stone floors, the lime-washing on exteriors, and generally determining why they had to live the way they did, with the utmost simplicity. Every evening before I went to bed, I'd review many of the photographs, and grew so attached to this book, that I told my sister Bonnie that I was going to try to find a copy in a used-book store. When I mentioned how much I loved the book, she ordered a copy online. It didn't have the same effect on her as it did on me. Pebble floors and harsh white-wash didn't appeal to her. The sparse interiors didn't reflect the comforts she prefers - like electricity and running water. Many of the homes had only two-burner propane stoves, and kerosene lamps for light. We exchanged a few e-mails, and she said she would send me her copy of the book!

I wrote to her: "I've come to understand why their dwellings look as they do. Although you don't care for them, I do enjoy the sparseness, the 'make-do' quality, perhaps for the same reasons I like to 'rough it' when we camp, having to find substitutions for getting by, and actually experiencing privation. Where did they get fresh water for bathing? Did they bathe? How did they remove bathroom contents from their homes - no septic tanks or plumbing? Electric lines are forbidden in many of these little villages, as they are considered an eyesore! That's why there are kerosene lamps on every windowsill."

"The walls of the houses had to be very thick, and window- shutters were kept closed during the day to shut out the heat. Wind was an ever- present condition (thus windmills for energy to grind grain). Mold and mildew, scorpions and snakes, are the bane in this area. If buildings are not whitewashed yearly, the rocks become encrusted with the most wretched black mold - you can see it in some of the street corners in cities where there are no regulations about its removal. I recall, when we were in Europe, how this encrusted stuff ultimately ruined the appearance of many of the buildings in Venice, and how they had a massive cleaning- up program to restore the statues back to their original pristine image. In some sites in Greece it is the law to whitewash, and yes it can have the effect of a brutal glare. I don't especially care for it. However when I saw the mold in some of those photos, I sure did want to get out my bleach!"

So, our e-mail conversation went back and forth, and yesterday I received the book, with the note, "Here's something for bedtime, love Bonnie!"