Loaf of Bread/Loaf of Cake

Below is one of the stories Grandpa Peter would love to tell . . .

I was working in a grocery store in Brighton, and every day I would see a woman walking by hitting her son over the head with a loaf of bread.  But one day, she walked by hitting her son over the head with a loaf of cake.

I rushed out of the store.

"Lady," I said. "Every day you walk by this store hitting your son over the head with a loaf of bread.  But today, you're hitting him over the head with a loaf of cake.  How come?"

"Oh," answered the lady.  "It's his birthday."

Family Artist In The Making

Zarouhi: Eastham or the Island in Maine

Many, many years ago, Marash Girl's Auntie Zarouhi who lived in West Newton in an apartment above where West Newton's CVS now resides, decided she wanted to buy a stretch of land for her family along the shores of the Atlantic Ocean in Eastham, Massachusetts, land which was (unknown to Zarouhi or her family) the future site of the United States Federally owned beach in Eastham.  Her parents complained because the land was a vast wasteland, as they saw it, with not a tree in sight.  So rather than Eastham, the family settled on a small wooded island off the coast of Maine, building a wooden bridge in order to access the property by automobile, as none of them were seafaring, nor did they own a boat.   Not sure who owns that island today, but keeping the bridge in good repair soon became more expensive than the island itself, thus forcing the family to sell their dream.

When We All Get To Heaven

Remembering singing this wonderful chorus when we were kids growing up in the United Armenian Bretheren Evangelical Church of Watertown, Massachusetts.  When we got to the words SHOUT in the last line, we loved it, because we SHOUTED out that word as loud as we could, and right in the middle of church!

When we all get to heaven,
What a wonderful moment that will be!
When we all see Jesus,
We'll sing and SHOUT the victory!

The congregation loved our singing, of course!

Happy Anniversary, Anoushig!

Marash Girl remembers the very day she and Marash Boy tied the knot at St. Gregory's Armenian Apostolic Church in Indian Orchard! And Medzmama (Azniv), Marash Boy's mom, (an Armenian woman who had survived the genocide of the Armenian people . . . but that's another story to tell later,) thanks to her freezer and her unending energy, had prepared 1,000 delicious lamejun which were served at the garden wedding reception in the orchard behind the church . . . served by (not Medzmama) the caterers who made and served the punch and the wedding cake.  It was a beautiful day for the orchard wedding, and a beautiful day which forecast a lifetime of happiness!  Thanks be to God!

Overheard

We were having coffee sitting in front of a coffee shop by the side of a busy road when we noticed two fellows approach each other, neither speaking to the other, one handed over a thick packet of dollar bills (denomination of the bills could not be seen from where we were sitting), the other handed over what appeared to be a chain of gold clutched in his right hand.  They walked away from each other without speaking.  A few minutes later a policeman walked by with his son in hand. . . Which group was "saved by the bell"?  All answers will be considered by Marash Girl!

And Speaking of Butterflies . . .

One of the favorite jokes the six kids in the house used to share was the following:
Question:  Why did the little boy throw the butter out of the window?
Answer:     Because he wanted to see a butterfly (the butter fly)!
The kids would rock with laughter any time one of them would tell the joke . . .

A Monarch Butterfly Visits the Shores of the Charles River

                                       Photo by Marash Girl

          A Monarch Butterfly Visits the Shores of the Charles River in Watertown, Massachusetts

Porchside in Newton Corner

Bargaining in Isfahan

Remembering my friend Rostom (rahmetli olsun Rostom) who accompanied Gail and Marash Girl south of Tehran to the Armenian stronghold (Isfahan) where Armenians fled and were welcomed after the genocide of the Armenian people by the Ottomans (1912-1915).   Rostom took us into an antique shop in Isfahan owned and operated by an Armenian man.  Walking into the shop, Marash Girl spied an interesting small metal dish with Armenian script around its edge.  It was priced at $25.00.  Marash Girl had been warned that in the Middle East, one should always bargain, as it was expected, and so Marash Girl did so, offering $20 for the interesting piece.  The salesperson immediately called for the owner, who came out, looked Marash Girl up and down, and asked, "How much did you say that dish was priced?"  "$25.00," replied Marash Girl.  The owner replied without pause, "Oh, no.  That dish should have been priced at $35.00, but you can have it for $30!"

Got a nickel?

When Marash Girl and her two siblings and three cousins wanted to joke around, they would love to quote the following:

"Got a nickel? Have a pickle!" . . . a statement that would always be followed by gales of laughter.

Now, as an adult, Marash Girl wonders what was so funny . . . can you, dear reader, help explain?

Ice Cream Soda [without the ice-cream and with far fewer calories]

Ever try mixing milk with gingerale for a cool summer drink?
(Use an all natural gingeral with no preservatives. . . Marash Girl uses Polar Gingerale.)
Try it (half milk/half gingerale), you'll like it!

A Rocky Message

 

"Take one for inspiration."

                                                                               "Share one for motivation."
                                                                        "Leave one to help our garden grow."
                                                                                               "Beware."
                                                                                         "Kindness Rocks!"

"I'm married!"

Marash Girl (at the time married with four children) had just returned from several weeks in Guatemala, where everybody greets everybody that they meet on the streets, whether they are acquainted or not, with a hearty, "Buenas!" Having gotten into the habit, Marash Girl began to greet folks on the street, whether she knew them or not, with a hearty, "Good morning!" Never realizing that some folks might take offence, she continued the greeting until, one morning, a young man (much younger than Marash Girl), affronted by her greeting, replied, "I'm married!"

A painting? Or in need of a painting?

And speaking of rain . . .

A family member reports overhearing a colleague commenting, "I hate it when it rains; I like to be in control of the amount of water my garden gets."

Antsrev Gookah

Whenever a thunderstorm would head our way,  to allay the children's fears, Medzmama taught them to recite the following rhyme . . .

Antsrev gookah, tsiun gookah, grgrr baban doon gookah.
(Translation:  Rain is coming, snow is coming, Papa Thunder is coming to our house!)
But what's the second verse?

Please dear reader, if you know the answer, please type it into comments.  That way, I won't lose any more sleep over the question

RACING RAINDROPS

Whenever it would rain, and we children would be confined to the house rather than racing around in our backyard, we would love to play racing raindrops.  Each of us would choose a raindrop, and compete as to whose raindrop would reach the windowsill first!

TIN CAN TELEPHONES

One of the most fun activities my sister, brother and upstairs cousins had was playing with tin can telephones.  Did you ever play with tin can telephones?  Do you even know what they are?  Assuming that you don't, please accompany Marash Girl into the past as she reminisces.

Years ago, when Marash Girl and her sister and brother and cousins ages were in the single digits, they loved playing with tin can telephones.  How was that?

They would salvage an two empty tin cans from the trash can, cans with one end already removed, peel the paper label off, and punch a small hole in the bottom of each can.  Then they would salvage string from the cellar shelves and string that string through the bottom of one tin can into the bottom of the second tin can, making the string long enough to reach from the dining room on the first floor through the dining room window into the dining room on the second floor through that dining room window.

By pulling on the string connected to the cans, they could

call each other, as the cans would bang onto the floor, thus signaling each other whenever they wanted to communicate   Alternating talking into the hollow of those cans on one end and listening into the hollow on the other end, the cousins had their very own private telephone. In the days when not all families could afford to have telephones (and at that time, there was only one telephone in the two family house), the cousins could chat with each other whenever they wanted, without running up and down the front stairs.

What fun memories!