Boo, Marash Girl!Hap boo booday Imagine how we looked upon our elders who reached that age when we were still reaching for our next birthday at eight or nine or ten. They wore the life of the world on their faces, the life of a thousand years under Seljuk/ottoman rule. We, who are now Witnessing the full fury of Islamic terror unleashed, the pent up demonic forces exploding from the soul of the kingdom of hell, is a testament to what our forbears endured, and endured mightily. uncle Vartan, a man whose face was whiskered by the stones and mountains of his loss, and yet his short laugh, like a clearing of his throat, captured the twinkle in his heart which placed his suffering and work for the lord in the proper context of a humility and certainty of the outcome. What I remember most of you as a child was the depth of clarity, the innocent intelligence of an Armenian girl whose visage was one of a blooded inheritance of a people wide eyed, filled with the wonder of a world redeemed from the flood waters and bequeathed to the family of the only righteous man left on earth, antediluvian Noah. Love to you, Marash Girl,AndBoo to you.