Happy Halloween!

Happy Halloween to all my friends, past and present!  Don't forget to stock up on candy for all those trick or treaters!

Remembering that Marash Girl's dad never allowed his children to go trick or treating, because, as he saw it, it was begging!  And his mom, even when they were starving during the first world war in Marash, would not allow them to stand in the line for the food that the missionaries were providing to the hungry.  She did not want her children to accept charity.  Grandma Yepros Kurtgusian Bilezikian worked at the missionary hospital for one loaf of bread a day.  That is what she and her children would eat.  God blessed them.  They survived to tell the tale!

Wakened in the Midst of the Storm

Marash Girl was wakened in the midst of the storm last night by her friends who were driving home from the Cape along the rain-tortured highways.  She stayed on the phone with one of them (not the driver!) until they arrived safely at home in Newton Corner.  What a hair-raising experience, even second-hand via the telephone!

Art in the Park

Art in the Park - Boston Public Gardens         Photo by Marash Girl

Making Democracy Work in Newton Corner at Underwood Elementary School!

                          Let the kids learn about democracy from their neighbors in real time!
                                               End of school day, Friday, October 27, 2017.

Victoria and Abdul

Saw Victoria and Abdul at the West Newton Cinema and loved it!

Me, too!

Marash Girl finds it rather interesting that the only folks who are commenting with hashtag "Me, too" are women.  How many men she has known who have been the recipient of sexual harassment.  Are they speaking up?  Or does sexual harassment experienced by men not count?

You're Right!

Whenever Grandpa Peter found himself in a roomful of folks who were vehemently disagreeing with each other, he would laughingly comment, "You're right, you're right, and you're right too!"  Marash Girl often wonders if Grandpa Peter was quoting an old Nasrettin Hodja tale, or if he was simply amused by the energy of the combatants!

Marash Girl Signs In!

  Reappointed to the City of Newton Parks and Recreation Commission, Marash Girl signs her acceptance at the Newton City Hall!

Wrong era!

Marash Girl was at a restaurant recently, and noticed the folks on the table in front of her with their heads bowed, praying (she thought) before eating.  On closer look, however, she realized they were studying the menu!  Wrong era!

Marash Boy at the Regatta!

Marash Boy at the Regatta, with the Charles River and the race going on behind him, 
studies the map, of course!

Memories of Our Childhood from Brother James on his birthday!

Happy Birthday to Brother James who on his birthday shares a letter he wrote 15 years ago to our Dad, Peter Bilezikian!

Dear Dad: 

I am very pleased that you liked the short story, Blossoms and Baseballs. I am hoping to write several more dealing with my childhood and the world of Lowell Avenue, the world of the Armenians flowing through our house, of Van Topalian, and the one word, ‘remarkable’, to which he ascribed things approved by him, of Harry Mooseghian, his natural awkwardness in doing all things physical, but his willing spirit, his shattered hulk of a car, symbolic of the devastation wrought by the Turks on his family prospects, and all the other people, mysterious, and marvelous, that my parents’ hospitality and curiosity welcomed into our home. 

Our home was a fecund garden for a young boy intent on sailing the world and visiting the people of the ports, some backward, some gallant, some heroic and humble, others who were charlatans and savages with city clothes. In all this parade of the human throng there was never danger. A boy could be in the midst of all this and never be threatened by it, because the setting was our home, in which you and mother provided us, like in the original garden, with every good thing to eat for our body and our soul. All of that goodness, that trickery, that pridefulness that strutted, that humility that walked simply upright through our home, was to be tasted in morsels the understanding of which promised to be the fiber of manhood. 

The violin and the bow always lay close behind all of this, because in the midst of this sometime crush of the human spirit, you would call for music from the souls and bodies of your children. Whatever strange and dangerous, brittle and base, lofty and incontinent, that might be parading itself that day in our home of hospitality would be brought back to the cloud of heaven with the single note, and the many notes thereafter that would fall like rain on a spring morning. All would be made right, because the children, like cherubs heralding our August God, playing with heart and humor, steadfastness of purpose, and the zeal to please, would in an instant vanquish the memory of the Turks, the evil of the world, the disarray of the downcast. 

In our home not only flourished an extended family, but an extended garden, a garden that reached back through the generations. It was a garden of the spirit, and the spirit made flesh, of 400 olive trees planted by Grandpa Moses, of great grandfather Sarkis’s conversion to a living faith, of the desire by Uncle Vartan to share the Good News, whatever the cost, of the Bilezikian vineyard in the cool of the summer mountains, of the stones made into bread by the love and faith of 

Grandma Yepros, of the courage of Grandpa Moses whose shepherd status was challenged by the bandits from the hills, at the cost of their lives and their horses. All this was a tapestry, a magic one, for a boy growing up in a family of electricians, who transformed the wire and current of their livelihoods into a garden that filled every niche of their land and their home. 

Sent from my iPhone

New England in October

A beautiful October's day in New England.  Enjoy!

100th Anniversary of the Women's Club of Newton Highlands!

Yesterday, Marash Girl was invited to the 100th Anniversary Celebration of the Women's Club of Newton Highlands, Massachusetts.  Unfortunately, New TV was not there to cover the occasion, but the Women of Newton Highlands, and Marash Girl were there!

Bad artist!

Growing up with books -- books everywhere, books always -- Marash Girl's children loved books.  When they loved the story, but objected to the way in which the artist had depicted the story, they simply slapped the image on the page and stated, "Bad artist!  Good story!"

Composting à la Adrien

Years ago, Adrien Parsekian of Troy, New York (I think . . . not sure of the spelling of his first name) showed me a new style of composting.  Beginning in one corner of his back yard, he would dig a hole slightly smaller than  the circumference of his original antique garbage pail cover.  In that hole he would throw vegetable and fruit peelings and leavings (his compost), throwing over the leavings a shovel full of dirt  and covering the hole with the antique garbage pail cover so that no animals could get at the would be compost.  He would add to the compost daily with vegetable and fruit peelings and soil (no meat or products containing meat).  As soon as the hole was nearly full, he would fill it to the brim with soil, cover it with a rock or two so that no animal could dine in, and then Adrien would dig another hole in his back yard and start the process all over again.  It was a brilliant method of composting.  Adrien . . . are you still composting in this manner? Do you have the most lush grass/garden in the neighborhood?

Whenever someone would make a stupid comment . . .

Whenever someone would made a stupid comment in the presence of Marash Girl's father, her father would comment, "Allah seni akul versin, banga para."  Translation?  "May God give you brains and me money!" ... a favorite expression of  those Marashtsi Armenians who had survived the early 20th century genocide of Armenians in Turkey . . . and survived to tell (or in most cases not tell) the tale!  How they still managed to keep their sense of humor after going through those horrors is difficult to fathom!

As luck would have it . . .

Marash Girl and Marash Boy spent a lovely evening with old friends in the heart of Brookline Village -- completely last minute, completely unplanned . . . Are those not the loveliest of evenings?

Happy Birthday, Meghan!

                                      Happy Birthday, Dear Meghan, Happy Birthday to you!

l. to r.   Deron, Dylan Marie, and Meghan dining at Le Pain Quotidien 
 earlier this year in Battery Park City (NYC)!

The Dead Space

While at Columbia Teachers College,  Marash Girl's professor gave her the phone number of the Yonkers Department of Education, encouraging her to call for an interview.  Every time Marash Girl dialed the number, she arrived in a "dead space" . . . a place where there was no sound, no sound except for other voices saying, "Hello?  Hello?"  Not one of the voices had reached the expected telephone destination --  in fact, it was almost as if the telephone company had created, unintentionally, of course, an old-fashioned party line, though none of the folks that reached that "dead space" had any idea how or why they had reached it.  But as things turned out, we all got to know each other, called into the dead space regularly, and became good telephone friends, good enough so that we decided we should meet at one of the inexpensive local restaurants.  We did.  And there was the "rub".  There is where Marash Girl met, and was romanced by the confused fellow that she wrote about in yesterday's blog.  Well, ya gotta meet guys somewhere, right?

The happy ending to the story?  Marash Girl did finally find the correct phone number for the Yonkers Department of Education, arranged for an interview, and was hired as a guidance counselor!

"I've never felt this way about a woman before!"

"I've never felt this way about a woman before!"
So there she was, having heard those words after he had kissed her that evening . . . day after day, awaiting his call.  But he never called.  What had happened?  She remembered clearly what he had said to her.  Okay.  She'd have to call into the dead space again. (More on the dead space in the next blog post.)  His friend answered.

"Oh," his friend said. "Didn't you know?  He rooms with his professor."
"So?" queried Marash Girl.
"He shares a bedroom with his professor."
"So?" queried Marash Girl.
"He shares a bed with his professor, and his professor will kill him if he ever finds out what happened between you two!"
"Oh," whispered Marash Girl.

N.B.  Never saw this fellow again!  Hope his professor didn't kill him!

Advice from the Ocean, Main Street, Newburyport, Massachusetts

Trying desperately to hold onto the summer, Marash Girl shares advice from an August day in Newburyport . . .
"Adapt to changing tides.""Be shore of yourself."  "Don't be shellfish."  "Take time to coast."  "Sea life's beauty."  "Let your cares drift away."  "Don't get tide down." "Harbor strength and persevere."  "Bet on a shore thing."  Surf life's rough waves."  "Come out of your shell."  "Seas every opportunity."  "Avoid pier pressure."  "Make waves & love."

Back to Daily Posting!

Sorry for the mini-vacation, but Marash Girl was off visiting her grandchildren in Takoma Park, Maryland, and has chosen to use that as an excuse for her lapse in writing.  But never fear, she's back again, hopefully with some well-chosen tidbits to share!  For today?  A few photos taken on her front porch this morning to show what she's been up to. And since it's Sunday, guess where it all went?You guessed it!  To the church for their upcoming flea market!