Happy Halloween!

Halloween on a windy day along the beach in Falmouth

Sandwich Public Library's Scare Crow Contest contributes to the Halloween festivities.

                               Even the Puritans celebrate Halloween in Sandwich, Massachusetts!

Turkeys parade in front of the Falmouth Library on Halloween as school children parade by in costume, joyful to see that turkeys celebrate Halloween as well!  Photo by Nisha

Wild Turkeys at Dusk: Shore Drive Roof Top, Falmouth, Massachusetts

It wasn't an early arrival of Santa with his reindeer. The animals flying through the air yesterday at dusk on Shore Drive in Falmouth, Massachusetts, were wild turkeys, and they were heading for the old woman's rooftop as she screamed in fear at the clumsy flapping of wings surrounding her and the dark hulks rising upwards.

Walking Along Shore Drive, Falmouth, Massachusetts: Make Way for Wild Turkeys

Marash Girl was walking along Shore Street towards downtown Falmouth on Monday morning, the day after the Cape Cod Marathon, when she spied what she thought to be an early (and tacky) Thanksgiving decoration perched on the fence of this Falmouth home, but as she approached,

she realized that there was nothing tacky nor decorative about this live display of wild turkeys, turkeys that decided to lead the way into town.

Photos by Marash Girl

SWEET POTATO BISCUITS Á LA LORIG

Lorig Charkoudian writes, "Here’s my oh-so-simple recipe for Sweet Potato Biscuits."

2 cups sweet potatoes (cooked and mashed)

2 cups flour (I’m doing half whole wheat pastry flour and half white right now)

2 tbsp baking powder

½ tsp baking soda

2 tsp salt

½ cup coconut oil

Pre-heat oven to 375.

Mix dry ingredients. Add oil and sweet potatoes. Mix well. Shape or roll out 

biscuits. Bake for 15-20 minutes or until done.

Cape Cod Marathon, Falmouth, Massachusetts, October 26, 2014

The weekend before Halloween (is there a reason?) has always been the time to head to Falmouth, Massachusetts, to run the Cape Cod Marathon on that Sunday (and if you can't run a full marathon, you can run the half marathon on Saturday.)  Nary a room is available in Falmouth and environs that weekend, as 1,200 runners from all parts of the United States, (as well as from all parts of the Cape, of course), converge on Falmouth to run the now famous Cape Cod Marathon.  This year's marathon featured lots of wind, but no rain, and beautiful views for the runners as they ran their 26.2 miles, the route lined with spectators cheering them on, handing out water, gel, high fives, and shouts of encouragement.  At one junction, (see photo below), a band greets the marathon runners with the music, "When the Saints Go Marching In" as the bystanders clap their hands in time to the music and the runners, and agree with the band, that these runners are indeed saints, running for all of us who could never even think of attempting such a feat!

26.2 or bust.  Lorig Charkoudian running strong!

Aline & Raffi greet their mother Lorig Charkoudian who has just crossed the finish line!

Her shirt says, "Run like a Mother"!

What was my time?  What? I came in second in my category?

"My best time ever!"  Despite the wind, 3 hours, 48 minutes and 10 seconds!
       
                                                                              Photos by Marash Girl

Guacamole á la Martha

If you're lucky enough to have a perfectly ripe avocado -- just squishable but not squishy -- a fresh lemon, AND a bottle of all natural salsa (the freshly made salsa in the vegetable section of the supermarket tends to have preservatives added -- check before you buy), your guacamole is minutes away.  Simply slice the avocado in half, remove the avocado pit (unfortunately you can no longer use these pits to grow avocado trees -- probably because they have been genetically modified in some way), dig out the avocado flesh and mash with a fork, leaving the mashed avocado ever so slightly chunky.  Add a tablespoon of salsa and a squeeze of freshly squeezed lemon juice -- more or less, depending on your taste -- stir with fork, and you have just prepared guacamole, absolutely delicious and freshly made, WITH NO PRESERVATIVES! Hope you have some chips around  . . . 

Thanks to Martha McCool for the recipe!

Mushrooms in the Sand Dunes of Provincetown

Red Cap Boletus Mushrooms at Race Point in Provincetown?

Yes, insisted the handsome older gentleman with bright blue eyes and a heavy Russian accent. It's the last week in October, right? I'm heading to the dunes of Provincetown now (probably along with all the other Polish and Russian emigrees in Massachusetts) to gather Podosinovik  Mushrooms.  I parboil them and freeze them, then enjoy them all winter long.  I serve the red cap mushrooms with vodka to any guests who come calling.  In Russian these mushrooms are called Podosinovik because the  white-stemmed mushrooms have round red caps that are the color and shape of the leaves of the Osina Tree (the aspen tree).  I'd better hurry or the gatherers will have gathered all there is to gather!

N.B. Days later, Marash Girl was walking along the Bike Trail (the former railroad track) that runs along the Atlantic Ocean in Falmouth, Massachusetts, when she spied the mushroom pictured below.  

Could this be the mushroom the fellow from Russia was talking about? Or is it the poisonous variety? This mushroom does not look edible to Marash Girl!

Indoor Gardening á la Thalassa Cruso

Many years ago, Marash Girl read Thalassa Cruso's Making Things Grow, a  gardening book with verve and humor.  To this day, Marash Girl remembers two points from the book, both of which made her smile at the time, and make her smile today.

Cruso cautions us to wash those emptied plant pots before putting them away in a corner of the cellar.  You wouldn't put dirty dishes on a shelf, would you? she asked.

Does Marash Girl remember correctly?  Did Thalassa Cruso really ask, "Do you keep fresh flowers after they have wilted or worse, died? Why keep a potted plant that is not thriving?  Simply buy another!"

That theory, of course, would have been anathema to Marash Boy's mother, who would rescue wilted twigs from the sale shelf at the back of the "Five and Ten" and with her last five or ten cents, buy a twig and nurse it into a living, thriving plant!

Would that Marash Girl had Medzmama's green thumb! Or Thalassa Curso's, for that matter!

Overheard

While helping set up for the church fair,  Marash Girl overheard the following interchange during a coffee break:

God helps those who help themselves . . .

But God help those who help themselves (to the antiques on the flea market table!)

The Lord's wrath upon them.

Minister: I'd rather wreak my wrath upon them!

Halloween?

Overheard:

Speaker #1:  So when is your birthday?

Speaker #2:  Halloween.

Speaker #1:  Why does that not surprise me?

Lentil Stew á la Nisha

Lentil Stew á la Nisha

1 medium onion, chopped

1 lb dry lentils

4 scallions, chopped

2 tsp garlic powder

1 tsp cumin

2 tsp Aintab red pepper, or to taste

1 15-oz can diced tomatoes

1/3 cup chopped cilantro

Sea salt and black pepper, to taste

Rinse lentils and drain.  Saute onion in olive oil until translucent.  Add garlic powder (and/or chopped garlic) and lentils, sauté for a few more minutes.  Add scallions, cumin, Aintab red pepper and tomatoes.  Add 6-8 cups (total) of chicken broth and/or water (I used mostly broth) and bring to a boil.  Add cilantro.  Let simmer for 30 minutes.  Add more broth or water if you prefer more broth and cook for a few more minutes.  Delicious!

Happy Birthday, Brother James!

You arrived home on my birthday, and I must admit, you were the best birthday present Marash Girl has ever received!

Olive Drab . . .

An ardent member of the Harvard-Radcliffe Armenian Club back in the day, David Balabanian was brilliant and funny.  To this day, Marash Girl remembers David's quip when a fellow Armenian classmate left college to join the United States Armed Forces.  "Olive drab on olive drab."

Being Armenian in the Jazz (and Not So Jazz) World of the Past . . .

"Many years ago in Boston, there was a really great tenor sax player named Varty Haroutunian.  He was superb and played nightly at the jazz club downtown called the Stables.  He and Herb Pomeroy were co-leaders and later had a wonderful big band.  I was honored one evening to be asked to sit in with the quintet and had a great time.  The jazz world knew Herb and Vardy, but the two musicians didn't want a life on the road, so they stayed in Boston and played the Stables for years.  As a joke we would sing to Vardy a version of My Wild Irish Rose.  Only we sang, "My wild Armenian nose, how it grows and grows and grows"  He had a bit of a large nose, of course, and in the jazz world we were not particularly kind to one another."

Above is a memory sent to Brother James by musician Phil Welch, now in his eighties.  Having never heard of Varty, Marash Girl looked up the name on the internet and found  http://troystreet.com/tspots/tag/varty-haroutunian/

N.B. It wasn't only the jazz world that sang the song; Marash Girl remembers George Bedirian, Nevdon Kupelian and Raffi Yeghiayan, all members of the Harvard Armenian Club, laughing and singing at the top of their lungs, "My Wild Armenian Nose",  as they drove through Cambridge and Watertown (Massachusetts) in Raffi's convertible Volkswagon bug, with the top down, of course!

Marash, Turkey -- Photos of Marash bring back sad memories for Armenian families

Photo courtesy of Özcan Gülkesen

No longer the Bilezikdjian home.  Photo taken c. 2000, Marash (now known as Kahraman Marash), Turkey

They say the house had the most magnificent baths!

This was the house in which Garabed Agha Bilezikdjian hid his extended  family during the Armenian Genocide.  As Grandpa Peter told it, there was a family in every corner of the living room.  There was a high wall around the house and a well for water in the center, both of which allowed for survival of the family.

When the photographer was asked why the house was in such disrepair, he said that some kerosene sniffers inadvertently caused the house to be set on fire.  It is well known in the city of Marash as the former abode of the Bilezikdjian Family.

1917 Marash German hospital - Marash Alman Hastanesi. Photo courtesy of Özcan Gülkesen

A photo of the German Hospital  in Marash, Turkey, where Marash Girl's Grandma Yepros used to work c. 1918-1922. She worked for a loaf of bread a day! It was in this hospital that she saw the Turkish soldier wearing the coat of her mother-in-law, Marta Ganimian Bilezikdjian.  When Grandma Yepros admired the coat, he bragged, I took that coat off of the giavour before Ithrew her into the ovens!  Grandma Yepros, who the soldier thought was Turkish,  had all she could do to quell her grief stricken screams and continue to care for the injured Turkish soldier at Alman Hastanesi. Oh, Marash Girl shouldn't tell you that; it's too awful and she had forgotten until this moment!

Bethel Orphanage - Photo courtesy of Edward & Mary Ann Kazanjian - Photo darken  during a recent trip to  Marash

Marash Girl, named Bethel after her Grandmother Yepros Kurtgusian Bilezikian, in memory of the orphanage that took Yepros in after she and her sister Mary (Mairie Baju) hid in a closet in their home in Marash and witnessed Turkish soldiers bludgeoning their parents to death.  As Grandma told it, somewhere around 1895, Grandma Yepros, then a little girl of 8 and her sister Mayry, then a little girl of 5, were with their parents at home when a knock came at the door.  Their parents told them to hide behind the curtains in the closet and never to make a peep, no matter what they saw or heard.  Their parents opened the front door, Turkish soldiers came in and  . . .   Soon after, German missionaries retrieved the two little girls, now orphaned, placing them in the Bethel Orphanage (photo above).  Whenever Marash Girl is asked about the origin of her name, she must tell this story.  So sad.  

N.B. Bethel (or Paytel in Armenian) means "House of God" . . . we are all Bethels, are we not?  Our bodies are Temples of the Living Spirit!)

     The current condition of the orphanage at Kumbet quarter... Photo courtesy of Ozcan Gulkesen via Facebook.

1919 Maraşlı Ermeni bayanlar Bethel Alman Yetimhanesinde yufka ekmek yapıyor
(Bethel Orphanage - Kumbet)) [Marash Armenian ladies making bread dough in the German orphanage, Bethel (Bethel Orphanage-Kumbet, Marash, Ottoman Empire] 
Photo courtesy of Ozcan Gulkesen via Facebook.
Is the date of this photo correct?  Or should it be 1900?

Drop those stitches and pull to your heart's content!

The Easiest Knitting Pattern (stitch, or better called drop stitch) in the world - Just rib it out (rip it out) . . . when binding off at the end of scarf or sweater, just drop every other stitch, or drop as many stitches as you want spaces (you always want spaces in togetherness, right?).. . . and pull so that the dropped stitch is dropped all the way up the scarf . . . Now there you have a beautiful patterned scarf with little or no effort!

Could this be a metaphor for life . . . okay, readers, go for it!

The next block . . .

"45% of all gun homicide crimes depends on your location within a network of co-offenders.  NOT your location!  If you are in the network, you are at higher risk. . . "  Shankar Vedantam, NPR, Thursday morning, WBUR, October 9, 2014.

That could explain the message Marash Girl received from all of her neighbors in Washington Heights many years ago, the day after a gruesome murder in their neighborhood: "Don't worry," were their comforting words. "The murder occurred in the next block!" They knew not to worry, even though they hadn't had the benefit of Shankar Vedantam's research!

THE TREE AT THE END OF THE AVENUE

Sounds like the title of her soon to be published novel, but actually it's the caption of her soon to be published photo . . .  and here it is!

The tree at the end of the avenue . . . October 13, 2014

At the beach . . .

"You never know how many friends you have until you own a beach house!"

Overheard at the phlebotomist's . . .

It's been real, it's been nice, but it hasn't been real nice!

And speaking of art . . .

Wondering what to do with all that art work you've collected over the years?  Follow the latest  advice from MOMA  P.S. 1:

     "THROW YOUR ART AWAY"  (probably right into their bins for future display!)

The very first exhibit on display at the entrance of the new MOMA P.S.One, New York City . . . Photo by Marash Girl

And speaking of speaking . . .

Overheard at a party, many years ago:

Hunky guy to beautiful blonde:  But how could you be married? We only just met!

Learning a new language?

When Marash Girl taught English to speakers of other languages, she noticed that the Russians remembered with ease all the long words and the Chinese remembered all the short words . . . never in the reverse!  Now if the Russian students had grown up bilingual (speaking Chinese as well) and the Chinese students had grown up bilingual (speaking Russian as well), there'd be no problem for either of them.  But then, of course, they could have grown up trilingual, including English in the mix, and they wouldn't have had to be in her class!

"I'd give my eye teeth to be able to do that!"

What does that mean? asked Marash Girl's daughter.  Why would you give your eye teeth?  Clear from the context as to the meaning of this expression, but very unclear after much research as to the origin of the expression.  Any takers out there?

Need an air conditioner in September? Just open your windows!

Overheard in the Newtonville Shaw's parking lot:

The furnace repair man didn't have the time to go to my friend's house to repair her furnace; because of the heat wave this September, he was too busy with the calls to repair air conditioners.  "People in Newton and Brookline don't know how to open their windows, it seems," he told her.

On Burnt Toast

A comment by Brother James on yesterday's blogpost entitled Burt and the Burnt Pancakes (see below) states, "Remember the assurance, 'if you eat burnt toast, you will find money'? I suspect that saying derived from before reliable toasters were on the market. Trying to toast bread over a fire, or coals virtually guarantees its being burnt. Ah, but did we find money! Did we ever!"

Interesting to note that Marash Boy remembers his grandmother Turvant Sanjian (born in Marash, survivor of the Armenian genocide) assuring him that if he ate burnt toast, he would find money. Sure enough, immediately after his eating burnt toast, his grandmother would take him, often with his cousin George, on walks along the path behind their house, a path that meandered through the woods. Invariably the little boys would find coins along that path, coins that, unbeknownst to them,  their grandmother had strewn . . . earlier in the day? or then and there? They never did figure that out!

Burt and the Burnt Pancakes

And speaking of pancakes (see yesterday's blog post below), Marash Girl still remembers Mrs. Evans, a neighbor on Lowell Avenue, Auntie Zabelle's knitting pal . . . Mrs. Evans telling the story about her young son, Burt, who loved to make pancakes on Sunday mornings.  As Mrs. Evans told the story those many years ago, the Evanses took their children out for a pancake breakfast one Sunday morning, and Burt stopped eating after his first bite.  "Something is wrong with these pancakes," he said; "they don't taste right!"  Mrs. Evans couldn't stop laughing as she told us the problem.  "The pancakes didn't taste right to Burt because they weren't burnt!"

Cooking Idea for October: Sweet Potato Pancakes

Cooked too many sweet potatoes for last night's supper? Don't know what to make for breakfast?  Well, if your family members are fans of pancakes, you have no problems!

Just add peeled, blended up or well mashed cooked sweet potatoes to your pancake batter along with a 1/2 tsp (or more to taste) of cinnamon and nutmeg, substituting the sweet potatoes for some of the milk -- in other words, reduce the milk to approximately the same amount as the sweet potatoes you have added, so that in total you add the same amount of liquid -- just so the batter looks about right -- and you will have the most delicious pancakes, pancakes that you'll want to snack on throughout the day . . . Or perhaps that's a good reason NOT to make them!

The Best Place to Plant a Tree . . .

Marash Girl recently received  a promotional piece in the mail from the Armenia Tree Project Celebrating 20 Years.  In the piece, the Tree Project quotes a Chinese proverb (I guess they couldn't find a fitting Armenian proverb for the occasion):  the proverb reads, "The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago.  The second best time is now."  Reading this proverb made Marash Girl very sad as it brought to mind the orchard of 100 olive trees that her grandfather Movses planted in Marash, Ottoman Empire, in 1884, the year before he left for the United States, trees he planted to ensure the well-being of his descendants for generations to come.  Perhaps it will not be surprising to you, dear reader, to learn that not one of those olive trees is left standing today.  

More likely, we should be talking about the best PLACE to plant a tree to make sure that it will be standing in years to come.

Confused? Just ask!

Danīshan daghdan ashmīsh.

Danīshmiyan duz yold yoluna sahmīsh.

The one who asks passes through the mountains,

The one who doesn't ask is confused by a straight road.

A saying straight from the Armenians from Marash early in the 20th Century.

Every day you live . . . .

"From the day you're born, every day that you live,  . . .  you're one day closer to the day you'll die!"

Now why in the world would Marash Girl's father repeat that so often, as she was growing up, so often that she would remember the edict to this day?  Could it be that his world growing up was the world of the Armenian Genocide?  Or was it his way of admonishing his children never to fear death because death is a given . . . .

TRACES, or, It doesn't pay to be a mother . . .

• LUCAS BOUTIN

• MATHIEU CLOUTIER

• HOU KAI

• LJ MARLES

• FLETCHER SANCHEZ

• RENALDO WILLIAMS

• NAOMIE ZIMMERMANN-PICHON

Les 7 doigts de la main, founded in Montreal in 2002 . . . 
Acrobats.  Young acrobats.  Young acrobats from as far away as China.  On stage at the Emerson Masjestic Theater in Boston, they introduce themselves via the microphone hanging down from the rafters, rafters from which the acrobats would soon be hanging . . .   they introduce themselves simply, by height, weight, country of origin, native language . . . If you knew nothing about them, you would not know what to expect . . . They continued to introduce themselves, all seven of them (6 men and one woman), and then the show begins.  Acrobatics the likes of which Marash Girl has never witnessed, bar none. 

Watching the performers of  "Traces", Marash Girl's heart was in her mouth, praying that God would save the young men and woman from instant death as they performed their (literally) death-defying acrobatics, knowing that there would have been no way in the world that she would have allowed her children to perform such actions that challenged gravity, that challenged God. . . But Marash Girl's friend was completely entranced -- having never been a mother, she saw only the beauty and skill and talent that these young people exhibited.

TRACES was, in the full sense of the word, awesome.

Plymouth, Massachusetts

Overheard:

While I'm here in the east, I'm going to visit my "family".  They all live in Plymouth.  They've been there for hundreds of years.

Oh, are you Native American?

No, my family came over on the Mayflower.