This profile has to reach as far back as it can since, in this case, meaning begins there. No one knows my grandfather's original name. At an undetermined age, he fled Russia's civil wars in the early 20th century and arrived in Greece where he fashioned an identity for himself that was unique and yet of its place. Xylinides, translating as one occupied in some fashion or other with wood, now supplies the nom de plume for whatever I write. I owe the sentiment of this borrowed name to a man whose choices in the face of historical upheaval and existential threat ultimately provided for the exist...