Wilbraham, Massachusetts: 10 months after the tornado

There she stood, at the corner of Tinkham and Main Streets in Wilbraham, Massachusetts.  Marash Girl with tears in her eyes.  A barren landscape greeted her.  Houses standing, Merrick Farmstand extant, but not a tree in sight.  Plastic houses on a Monopoly board. Or, to quote Theresa Munn, "Feel like we're living in a new development before the developer put in the trees . . . and the last place I ever wanted to live was in a new development."  Or as Farmer Lewellyn Merrick commented, "It'll take 50 years for trees to grow back." (See Marash Girl's posts of June 2 ff. on the Tornado that hit Western Massachusetts on June 1, 2011.)  Unbeknownst to Marash Girl, at that same moment, Marash Boy was on the top of Wilbraham Mountain, surveying the family land where there was now not a trace of the cabin; only trees -- uprooted trees, trees with broken hearts.

As she writes this post, Marash Girl remembers her mother's love for trees, and for the poem that she so often recited to Marash Girl as Marash Girl was growing up:

TREES
Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918)

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

 

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

 

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

 

A tree that may in Summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

 

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain. 

 

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree. 

 

"Trees" was originally published in Trees and Other Poems. Joyce Kilmer. New 

York: George H. Doran Company, 1914.

Public Telephone Booth at the Publick House, Sturbridge, Massachusetts

Marash Girl's earliest memories of  public telephone booths (those little wooden and glass havens of privacy in the midst of chaos) was from her years in Kindergarten when she and her two best friends (names now forgotten) would meet privately after school in the telephone booth on the corner of Walnut and Bowers Streets (before Marash Girl arrived at her father's store, Newtonville Electrical Co., Inc., 84 Bowers Street, in Newtonville, Massachusetts, the corner store in Uncle Vartan's brick store and apartment complex opposite the Newtonville Train Station -- yes, there was a beautiful stone train station on Bowers Street in Newtonville!)

Public telephones today?   in this day and age, where else would you find public telephones, much less a public telephone in a booth, but at the Publick House (Sturbidge, Massachusetts)  (See Marash Girl's post on New Year' Day at the Publick House.)  Here's the rub.  To the left of the Public Telephone Booth is none other than . . . an ATM machine!  Can you see the M on the left of the telephone booth in the photo at the beginning of this post?
 

Please share are your memories of public telephone booths.

MY KNEES WERE SHAKING!

Much of the humor told by Marash Girl's father was at the expense of powerful women.  And it was true that most women who had survived the genocide were powerful by definition.

The following joke takes place in a Protestant missionary gathering where men were 'baring their souls', as it were.

The missionary asked the roomful of men, How many of you are afraid of your wives?

All but one man stood up.  The missionary called on the man in the back row who had not stood up.  Tell us, sir; how is it that when I asked, "How many of you are afraid of your wives," everyone stood up but you.  Are you not afraid of your wife?

The seated man answered:  Just the mention of the word 'wife' (avrat) causes my knees to shake so badly that I cannot stand! Avrat dediğinde, dizlerim titriyordu.

The punch line to the joke, hard to comprehend in an American setting (they say that jokes are very difficult to translate), became an ironic statement that laced conversation whenever guys were joking about being afraid of their wives.  "Avrat dediğinde, dizlerim titriyordu."

The Minister Is Sick!

One of the characteristics of growing up Armenian was the intermingling of three languages -- Armenian, English, and Turkish, and the jokes that resulted therefrom.  As well, humor was often played off between the traditional Apostolic church goers and the new (as of the 19th Century) Armenian Protestants. (See Marash Girl's blog on Protestants and Pambook Jack.)

Here's a joke that plays off of both language and religion, a joke that was told to Marash Boy on his first meeting with his first cousin who had recently arrived from the "old country":

The 19th Century Armenian-American Protestant congregation in Marash (or was it Aintep?) had gathered on Sunday morning, as was the custom, to hear their minister give the sermon.  One of the congregation got up and announced that the minister was unable to attend church that day.  Mixing English and Turkish, as was often done even then, the Armenian, whose knowledge of English was far from perfect, said,  "The minister will not be attending church today.  Sick dir!"

Breakfast on Beacon Hill

Marash Girl used to make Dutch Apple Pancake in the late 1960's when she would bake special treats for Marash Boy's breakfast meetings held weekly at 89B Mt. Vernon Street on Beacon Hill.  The guys who worked at the State House with Marash Boy (who was at that time Commissioner of the Massachusetts Department of Community Affairs) would come for breakfast meetings before Marash Girl left for work!  After a while, the wives of the guys at the meetings would call (as soon as the guys got to the State House) to find out what Marash Girl had served for breakfast that week!  Had she thought about it, Marash Girl would have prepared a cookbook entitled, Breakfast on Beacon Hill!

One of the very recipes that Marash Girl used to prepare was sent to her via email by Marash Martha.  Unlike the recipe below, Marash Girl would cook the apples on the stove top rather than in the oven, but the method below seems to be much simpler.  Marash Girl omitted adding the Maple Syrup at the end. She served the Dutch Apple Pancake to the State House set with sugar and cinnamon.  Enjoy it either way!

DUTCH APPLE PANCAKE
[Marash Martha credits this recipe to William.-Sonoma from years ago]

PLACE THE FOLLOWING MIXTURE IN A ROUND PAN AND BAKE IN OVEN (uncovered) FOR 10 MINUTES AT 400 DEGREES:
2 tbsp. butter
4 – 5 large apples peeled and sliced ½” thick
3 tbsp. sugar
½ tsp. ground cinnamon

WHILE THE ABOVE IS BAKING,
THROW THE FOLLOWING IN YOUR MIXMASTER AND BLEND WELL:
3 EGGS
¾ CUP ALL PURPOSE FLOUR
¾ CUP MILK
1 TBSP YOGURT
1/8 TSP SALT

POUR this MIXTURE OVER THE APPLE MIXTURE THAT HAD BEEN BAKING.
STIR  these two mixtures together SO THAT IT IS EVENLY BLENDED and evenly situation in the baking pan.

BAKE AN ADDITIONAL 20 MINUTES (OR UNTIL IT RISES AND IS LIGHTLY BROWN)
WHEN YOU REMOVE THIS FROM THE OVEN, POUR 1/3 CUP OF PURE MAPLE SYRUP OVER.
CUT INTO 4 EQUAL PIECES (AND INVITE ME OVER)!!

N.B.  Today, Marash Girl often substitutes peaches or pears for the apples for variety!

Coyote Comes Calling

There he was, sauntering purposefully down Maple Avenue (a direct line from Cabot Park, probably his home base), heading north at 5 o'clock (supper time?)  as Marash Girl was heading south up Maple Avenue after taking a late afternoon stroll . . . A dog off leash? she thought.  Couldn't be.  His walk is not that of a dog's.   No, a sleek, healthy looking coyote.  (She hadn't seen one since before the tornado hit the top of Wilbraham Mountain!)  He must not know about the leash law in Newton, she thought.  As they approached each other, the coyote took a neat right turn heading east, right into Marash Girl's driveway.  A visitor for supper? Wonder where he's headed?  But by the time Marash Girl arrived in her back yard, the coyote was long gone.  There goes her dream of having a portable chicken coop in that back yard of hers!

SNOWDROPS IN MARCH

David and Margaret Gullette offer Snowdrops in March to a Newton Corner neighbor.

Have you ever seen Snowdrops covering the ground when there has been no snow all winter?  Today, Marash Girl saw exactly that -- Snowdrops everywhere on the grounds of this beautiful Victorian home.  What are Snowdrops?  They are small plants that bear tiny white flowers, perrennials that not only come up every year (even before crocuses), but spread with little or no encouragement.  And they are beautiful.   Marash Girl asked and she was given this beautiful pot of Snowdrops which she immediately carried to her own Victorian home at the bottom of the hill. If you scroll down, you will see the Snowdrops in their new home.

Snowdrops in March replanted by Marash Girl on her front lawn at the foot of the antique bench reconstructed by Peter in his 95th year. 

DEPORTED: A DREAM PLAY at Suffolk University's Modern Theatre

Saturday was opening night for the new show Deported, A Dream Play by playwright Joyce Van Dyke at the new Suffolk University Modern Theatre in Boston's Theatre District   Using the vehicle of the Armenian experience, DEPORTED deals with the issues of memory, trauma, and pain that so many in the world suffer after loss of family, loss of land, loss of home, loss of joy.  Marash Girl, having seen the play in its early stages was not prepared for the emotional impact that it would take on her. The play touched on all of the realities of growing up Armenian in a post genocidal Armenian American family.  Yes, like Rose, Marash Boy had had to awaken his grandmother from screaming nightmares, a grandmother who had gone on the death march and somehow survived, but had not forgotten; a grandmother who never wanted to share the horrors of her past.  (See Marash Girl's blog, A Tale for Taraf!)  Unlike Marash Girl, Marash Boy responded to the play with joy, joy that the 'Armenian' story had finally left the annals of dusty history books and academic conferences and could now be viewed under the bright lights of the stage in this professionally written and produced drama that deals with the past, the present and the future.

Marash Girl was devastated.  Marash Girl had seen the play in its earlier forms, (click this link to see earlier blogpost) had heard the stories of the survivors first hand; nonetheless, this dramatic production grabbed her and wouldn't let her go. . . every aspect, from the set to the music to the choreography (Armenian dancing) to the costuming, to the casting, to the acting, and first and foremost, to the writing of the play.

After the performance, Marash Girl asked playwright Joyce Van Dyke:  Was this play as difficult to write as it was to watch?   Her answer:  Yes.

If you haven't seen the show yet, you must. It was truly amazing.

Take note of the following pre-performance special events:

DEPORTED / A DREAM PLAY SPECIAL EVENTS SCHEDULE

March 29, post-show talk : “One by One: Dialogue among Descendants of Genocide Survivors, Perpetrators, Bystanders and Resisters," with Dr. Wilma Busse, Director of the Counseling Center, Suffolk University.  Moderated by Paula Parnagian, President, World View Services.

March 30, 7:00-7:30 PM (play performance follows at 8:00 PM)
“The next generation: Turks and Armenians talk about the future,” with:
Ayşe Deniz Lokmanoğlu, MA candidate in Middle Eastern Studies, Harvard University;
Tsoleen Sarian, who works in politics;
Nareg Seferian, Master’s degree candidate in Politics and International Affairs, Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy;
Ahmet Selim Tekelioğlu, Ph.D. candidate in Political Science, Boston University.
Moderated by Cynthia Cohen, Ph.D., Director of the program in Peacebuilding and the Arts, Brandeis University.

For tickets, dates and times of performances, go to http://deportedplay.org/

Playwright Joyce Van Dyke (right) and Ruth Thomasian discuss Project Save's photographs on the foyer walls of the new Suffolk University Modern Theatre on opening night of the play, DEPORTED: A DREAM PLAY.

After the show, Marash Boy (left) talks with Bobbie Steinbach, the star of DEPORTED,  in the foyer of the new Suffolk University Modern Theatre,  about the problem of reconciliation when there has been no admission of wrong, or as Marash Girl often quips, "How can we forgive something that 'never happened'?"

New Life for an Old Plant

Who would want a plant that's called "Mother-In-Law's Tongue" or "Snake Plant"?

The story of the lost plant that was found.

For days the winds blew, the rains poured and at the end of the street was a lone plant on the edge of the sidewalk, a plant that had blown over in the wind.  It was out on trash day, and it was still out on the next day and the next day and the next.  Loving to save plants from certain death, Marash Girl has been known to salvage a plant from the sidewalk and nurse it back to health, but this plant looked like it had been placed on the tree belt for decoration and had inadvertently been blown over in the wind.  Marash Girl set it upright as she walked by, only to notice it was out with the trash barrels on the next trash day.  Concerned for the survival of an otherwise healthy looking plant, Marash Girl knocked on the door of the house to which the plant seemed to belong.  The lady of the house answered.  The plant?  No, she didn't want it.  Her husband had bought it for her, but she had too many plants as it was, so she had set it out on the sidewalk in the hope that someone would adopt it.  Marash Girl thanked the lady of the house and carried the plant home, still in its plastic pot, without a name or a home.  Placing the plant on her front porch, Marash Girl asked every passer by and soon found that the plant was known as "Mother-In-Law's Tongue" or "Snake Plant".  No wonder nobody wanted the poor thing, with names like that!

 

Marash Girl decided to ask  Karoun, whose favorite color is green, if she would adopt the plant. And sure enough, on the very day she was packing to move, Karoun worked her magic.  The plant has indeed found a new mother and a new home (and most likely a new name). Above are the photos to prove it.

Happy Birthday, Deron!

Marash Girl and Marash Boy remember the day you were born! We had a name all picked out for you, but when we looked at you, we knew that the name we had chosen was not your name.  You were so full of God's love and God's peace we could only look to find the right name and find the right name we did:  Deron (from the Armenian Deronagan) meaning "Belonging to the Lord".  And indeed, you have lived your life according to your name.  When kids wanted to fight, you would suggest that they work it out on the basketball court shooting baskets.  When kids were troubled, you cared for them.  When folks needed help, (especially in math or history), you spent hours with them on the front porch preparing them for their   finals, for their college achievements.  For all of this and more, your Newton North High School classmates awarded you the Boys' Senior Cup.

And let's not forget all those prayers you sent up for the Boston Red Sox!

So Happy Birthday, Deron!

POPcorn! More POPular than ever!

Make fresh POPcorn on your stove top the old-fashioned way and it'll be the most POPular snack at the party.  Even more POPular than brownies!  So how does Marash Girl make POPcorn?  The way her mother and mother-in-law made it.  The old-fashioned way.

To make old-fashioned POPcorn:

Put a heavy stainless steel pan on the stove (the type with a single handle and a cover), pour some olive oil just to cover the bottom, add one or two kernels of POPping corn.  Cover the pot.  Heat the oil.  When the oil gets hot enough, the two kernels will POP.  At that point, while the pan is still on the hot burner, cover the bottom of the pan with dried kernels of POPping corn.  Cover the pan (with its cover) and keep shaking the pan until all the kernels are POPped.  When you hear no more POPping, turn off the heat (or gas), remove the pan from the stove, and pour the POPcorn in a bowl large enough to accommodate all the wonderful POPpcorn you have just POPped.  The aroma will fill the house and its inhabitants with joy!  Now add POPcorn salt or kosher salt to taste. Toss.  Be careful not to over salt.  At this point you can add other flavorings such as garlic powder or garlic salt, etc. etc. 

Recently, some folks have been suggesting that salt and flavorings should be added to the oil.  Marash Girl experimented with adding salt to the oil at the very beginning of the heating process.  The result?  It took much longer for the oil to heat up and for the POPcorn to POP.  (Though not a chemist, Marash Girl believes that the salt lowered the temperature of the oil.)  The result?  POPcorn that was NOT light and airy, that took much longer to prepare, and much longer to chew!

Marash Girl recommends the old fashioned way!  Add the salt after the POPcorn is done.  AND if you really want to have some fun, do it the way Marash Boy's mom used to do it:  Have a sheet already spread out on the kitchen floor so that while the POPcorn is POPping, the young 'uns are waiting . . . as soon as the POPcorn is done, pour it onto the sheet, and let the young 'uns sit around the outer edge of the sheet and feast to their heart's content!

Leave the light on!

The one time Marash Girl's family left the light(s) on was when her mom, known to the kids as Grandma Jennie, left the light on in her oven overnight.  Why?  Marash Girl forgot to tell you the real secret of making firm, delicious madzoon (better known in the popular culture as yogurt).  (See Yogurt: The Recipe).  The real secret?  When you've finished preparing your madzoon according to Marash Girl's recipe, you don't have to preheat the oven.  Simply place the covered bowl of soon to be madzoon in the oven, turn the oven light on, close the oven door, making sure that the light stays on in the oven, and leave the light on overnight.  Or (if making the madzoon during the day) leave the bowl of fermenting yogurt in the oven with the light on for 12 hours. Grandma Jennie's very own secret!  You'll have perfectly set yogurt every time!

More advice from the Woman from Cohasset

On Friday's drive into Boston, Marash Girl reminded all passengers to buckle their seat belts.  The Woman from Cohasset (see Marash Girl's blog on Mitt Romney and the Cohasset Republican) announced, I never buckle my seat belt.  Well, Marash Girl replied, let me tell you that our cousin was an oral  and maxillo-facial surgeon , and he always reminded us that most of his work came from folks who had been in accidents and neglected to buckle their seat belts.  Well, answered the Woman from Cohasset, my husband was a dentist and I never buckle my seat belt.  What about all those people that get stuck in their cars and burn up because they can't unbuckle their seat belts when their car crashes?  Even though I don't buckle my seat belt, I always keep a sharp knife in the car for those foolish folk who do!  And so do I, echoed her 85 year old friend sitting in the back seat next to her.

Are we taking something for granted?

Yesterday Marash Girl "manned" the polls in a small precinct of Newton from 6 in the morning until 8 at night.  Granted, it was a primary election.  Nonetheless, it was so quiet for so long, she's saddened to say, that her partner inspector commented, "I forget why I'm here. . .!"

Grandma Jennie's Cheoreg

Grandma Jennie’s Cheoreg

Dough preparation:
1 pkg dried yeast (place in 1/4 c. warm water with a bit of sugar)
1 c. milk
1 tsp. to 1 tbsp freshly ground mahlab (available at Armenian grocery stores) - Marash Girl uses 1 tbsp.
1/2 Tbsp black caraway seed optional - Sev Goondoug available at Armenian/Middle Eastern grocery stores.
1/3 c sugar
3 eggs, beaten
1 c butter, melted
5 c flour
2 tsp salt

Topping:
1 egg, beaten (to wipe on top of shaped cheoreg before dipping in sesame seed.)
Sesame seeds

Preheat oven to 375 degrees fahrenheit.  While oven is heating,
mix dough ingredients together with large heavy spoon. Dough should NOT be stiff, but rather fairly loose in order to achieve a soft cheoreg, the way Grandpa Peter liked it.  Set aside the dough to rise in a covered glass bowl, away from drafts.  When dough is doubled in size, punch down.  Take the equivalent of a half cup of dough, roll into 6 or 7 inch strip, circle strip around itself (snail-like) to make a circular roll. 
Place this roll in the palm of your hand, dip top of roll into egg mixture, then into flat dish in which you have placed sesame seeds. (This system gives a delicious thick layer of sesame seeds, not just sprinkles, and saves the trouble of brushing on the egg, then scattering on the sesame seeds.  It was Grandma Jennie's very own secret.) Place plain side of roll on greased baking tray, leaving room for cheoreg to rise (about 1 inch between rolls).  Dough will have risen enough by the time you finish shaping rolls to bake on greased tray in preheated oven for 15 minutes.

Recording this recipe in memory of Marash Girl's mother, Jennie Vartanian Bilezikian and the family visits to her Uncle Joe (Grandma Yester's Brother Yusuf) & Auntie Mogie Bosnian (Ruthie and Didick's mom).  Auntie Mogie always welcomed us with cheoreg in her oven and baking when we arrived, ready to take out and serve us piping hot.

Mitt Romney and the Cohasset Republican

"Mitt Romney -- he's not like those other guys; he's so moral, so honest, I'm going to vote for him . . . ," stated the woman from Cohasset who happened to be sitting in the back seat of Marash Girl's car, on her way to hear Cole Porter at the Emmanuel Church on Friday night.  "Really?  Why do you think that?" asked Marash Girl.  Romney's admirer continued:  "I was on his gubernatorial campaign staff, and he invited me to a party at his home.  It was the most boring party I have ever been to."  "How so?" asked Marash Girl.  The admirer from Cohasset continued:  "He's such a good Mormon that he served no wine, no beer, no alcohol whatsoever, no coffee, no tea.  The party was SO BORING!  That's why I'm going to vote for him!  He lives what he believes. . . And he's soooo handsome! He looks like a President!"

Yesterday, Marash Girl received an unsolicited recorded phone call from Mrs. Mitt Romney inviting Marash Girl to an election night party in downtown Boston.  (Where  did Mrs. Romney get Marash Girl's phone #? It's not on their rolls, and IS on the DO NOT CALL list!) Based on the recommendation of Romney's Cohasset admirer, Marash Girl thinks she'll stay home!  Wonder if Mrs. Romney called the folks in Cohasset . . .

Koko Boodakian & Sons: I dream of Jeannie with the Light Brown Hair

This past Friday night, at the reception following the Cole Porter Review at Emmanuel Church in Boston, Marash Girl had the opportunity to chat with Michael Boodakian, the son of Koko Boodakian. (Koko Boodakian was a household word in our home full of oriental rugs.) Michael & Marash Girl reminisced about the old days . . . who had the bees?  Was it Peter or Paul?  Did you know arthritis can be cured by bee stings (see WBUR & CURT'S PHOTOS, HONEY BEES & EGYPTIAN HONEY ).   Who had the garden?  Peter!  Your father! He was such a great guy.  I remember his coming to do electrical work for us at Boodakian & Sons Oriental Rugs in Winchester (Massachusetts) and while he was working, Peter was singing, always singing, "I dream of Jennie with the light brown hair!" (See I Dream of Jennie with the Light Brown Hair.)

Michael continued:  "Just before he passed away, I remember picking Peter up at his house; Irene (his caregiver) was with him.  I took them both to the Men's Club at the St. James Armenian Apostolic Church in Watertown.  Peter had such a good time, laughing and joking with the men there; he was such a great guy!  So full of fun!  Always full of fun."
Michael, being Ainteptsi, was a distant relative of Marash Girl's mother, "Jennie with the Light Brown Hair".  He recalled a trip to Los Angeles when he visited with Uncle George Vartanian (Jennie's brother), and Jennie's cousins Uncles Jake (Jakie) and Johnnie Bosnian (Auntie Flora and Uncle Yacob's sons -- Uncle Yacob being Marash Girl's Grandmother Yester Bosnian Vartanian's brother, all from Aintep).  Oh, to bring those days back!!!  But as Peter would say, "Those days are gone . . . forever!"

Cole Porter Alive and Well at the Emmanuel Church, Boston

Armand Andreassian watching the Cole Porter Review presented at Boston's Emmanuel Church last night by the Andreassian Music Fund.

The New England Light Opera (NELO), Boston area's professional operetta and musical theater company,  last night sponsored by the Andreassian Music Fund, presented the timeless songs of Cole Porter in a revue entitled, "Night and Day: A New Cole Porter Celebration".  The show was presented in architectural magnificence at the historic Emamnuel Church on Newbury Street in Boston.  With the original cast of this revue, the performance featured June Baboian, Kaja Schupper, Brian DeLorenzo, Mark Morgan and joining the cast for the first time at the piano, Margaret Ulmer.  The cabaret atmosphere, small tables with candles, wine and dessert, made for a convivial evening.

As she watched the show, Marash Girl remembered her mother, felt that her mother was with her, singing along, laughing, tapping her foot to the music, getting up and dancing to the more danceable tunes.  Her mother, known as Grandma Jennie to the kids, would be waving to June Baboian, exclaiming how amazing it was that her friend, Rose Baboian of cookbook fame, had such a talented granddaughter on stage, a wonderful actress with a powerful and beautiful voice.  Grandma Jennie would be so excited to go back and tell Rose how much she loved the show.  But then, Grandma Jennie and Rose were probably watching the show from above and loving every minute of it!

Old-Time Religion, Old-Time Hymns, Old-Time Hymnals

Free Catalogue of Antique Hymnals
So stated an email to hundreds of university libraries. . . but Marash Girl got to wondering . . . why is it that she loves hymns, and the hymnals recording those hymns?  Why did she purchase antique hymnals from a library that no longer wanted them?  Why did she carefully catalogue the hymnals? 
And why Marash Girl's fascination with hymnals?  Do the hymns she loves most have their beginnings with Rev. Trowbridge, missionary from Boston venturing into the Ottoman Empire in 1825?  Or with the Protestant Missionaries in Marash, (Turkey)a bit  later in the 19th Century? Or with her great great grandfather Rev. Sarkis Bilezikjian in 1865, first minister of the first Armenian Protestant church in Marash, Ottoman Empire?  or with her Uncle Vartan (Rev. Vartan Bilezikian) in 1895? Or in Watertown, Massachusetts at the United Armenian Brethren Evangelical Church in the early 1940's?  Not sure.  But what she does know is that she loves hymns and has loved them ever since she was a wee one and would hear her little churchful of survivors (survivors from the 1915 Armenian Genocide at the hands of the Ottomans), many of them old (they seemed to her then), widows all dressed in black, joyfully singing in Armenian, Turkish, and English:  "This is my Story, This is my Song.  Praising my Savior All the Day Long, This is my Story, This is my Song; Praising my Savior all the day long."  All of their sorrows were left behind when they sang.

That song had been translated from the English that the Missionaries brought to Marash into Armenian.  The hymnal Marash Girl grew up with (and the hymnal she most loves) was written in Armenian, Armeno-Turkish, and English as well, by the Rev. E. E. Elmajian, who gathered these old-time hymns into one volume: SPIRITUAL HYMNS OF WORSHIP - HOKEVOR YERKER BASHDAMUNKI - RUHANI IBADET ILAHILERI [IN ENGLISH, ARMENIAN & ARMENO-TURKISH].  581 hymns in harmony (treble & bass clefs) in all three languages, plus 15 responsive readings, topical index, index of first lines & titles, everything in all three languages. [Elmajian had fled into the mountains during the genocide of 1915-1918  in order to escape death,  had lived on berries and leaves for years in the (Tarsus?) mountains until he learned sometime in the 1920's that the war was over and it was safe to return to civilization.]

Whenever Marash Girl is happy, she sings hymns; and whenever she's in trouble, she sings hymns.  They bring joy to her life; they serve as prayers more eloquently than any prayer she could utter.

And so when Marash Girl (as proprietor of OldCornerBooks.com) was offered a large collection of antique hymnals, she could not refuse. She offers them to you with the following question:  Whence cometh your love of hymns?

To request Marash Girl's catalogue of over 350 antique hymnals, please email books@oldcornerbooks.com

Coyotes on Centre Street?

Walking back from Newton Centre's Panera (their "Wednesdays in February" promotion -- free coffee from 7-9 AM -- a good excuse for a 4 mile walk), Marash Girl encountered the above sign posted on the telephone post at the corner of Centre Street and Clinton Place, a quarter of a mile from the shops in Newton Centre, in a thickly settled, heavily trafficked area of Newton.  The sign read, "Predators are killing family pets -- Coyotes and foxes are preying on cats and small dogs.  Many cats are missing or dead.  Please keep your cats and dogs in, except when escorting dogs."  Really can't imagine a cat that wouldn't climb a tree rather than allow itself to be caught by a coyote, and there is a leash law in Newton forbidding dogs off leash except in off-leash doggie parks.  So what gives?  Is this just another effort to scare Newton residents into obeying the law? (And Marash Girl is not talking about the law of nature here . . .)
Dead End -- was that a warning? (see Marash Girl's blog, The Dead Man's Float) -- that was the second sign at the corner of Centre Street and Clinton Place; being ever curious, Marash Girl decided to follow the street to its "Dead End" to see what was dead about it.  Following Clinton Place westward one block, Marash Girl turned North where Clinton Place became a dirt road traversing back yards for the equivalent of two blocks.  And there it was.  Across Cotton Street, a wall separating Cabot Woods from the rest of the civilized world, a wall behind which, no doubt, coyotes and foxes could live in peace.

Frank Schaeffer, Uncle Vartan, and Jennie Vartanian

After reading Frank Schaeffer's books tracing the history of the Religious Right, Marash Girl felt fortunate to have been brought up in a church led by her Uncle Vartan (Rev. Vartan Bilezikian).  (See his book, long out of print, now available online (http://cosmades.org/articles/aphram%20hoja/aprahamhojaindex.htm) Apraham Hodja of Aintab, a biographical history of the early Evangelical movement in Eastern Anatolia.) 

Thanks to Frank Schaeffer, Marash Girl began to think about her own experiences in the evangelical church (earlier than Frank's) and how fortunate she was to have  had her very own Great Uncle Vartan who led the church and kept out the crazies, and her father, Peter Bilezikian, who moderated any craziness that may have snuck through.

One story of particular import was of Marash Girl's mother, Lucille Mae (Jennie) Vartanian (brought up in the more moderate Armenian Protestant Church -- the Armenian Memorial Church in Watertown, or what we called the Cilician Church, -- known to be more "liberal" than the Watertown Armenian Brethren Evangelical Church), Peter Bilezikian's newly engaged to be married love, who came to the Brethren Church (before Marash Girl was born, of course) to sing a hymn in duet with her sister Lydia Vartanian.  When the young women got up on the pulpit to sing, a man in the congregation stood up and shouted, "Before they can sing, they must give their testimony!"  Marash Girl's Great Uncle Vartan stood up to his full height of almost six feet (rare in those days for an Armenian),  glared at the originator of the intrusive remark, pointed at him, and said in his heavily accented English, "YOU SIT DOWVUN."  The man who had insisted on hearing Jennie's testimony sat down at Uncle Vartan's command, and Jennie and her sister Lydia sang.

Marash Girl's father loved to tell the story, and Marash Girl's mother loved to hear it told.

Frank Schaeffer: Sex, Mom and God

Frank Schaeffer, SEX, MOM, AND GOD: HOW THE BIBLE'S STRANGE TAKE ON SEX LED TO CRAZY POLITICS -- HOW I LEARNED TO LOVE WOMEN (AND JESUS) ANYWAY. Da Capo Press, 2011.

Having read Portofino years ago, and laughed her way all the way through it (knowing the humor from the inside!), Marash Girl recognized the author of Sex, Mom & God , and thought, "Oh, good! Another romp!"  But this romp, though it kept her laughing, was far more serious and among many other journeys, takes the Religious Right and the home school movement, and traces it  back to Christian Reconstructionism begun by no other than the Armenian-American (Frank's words) Rousas John Rushdoony.  Who would have guessed.  In a very frank (no pun intended) exposee of his life with sex, mom, and God, and not necessarily in that order, Schaeffer keeps the reader alternatively laughing and in anguish as he reveals the history of himself, his family and his faith.

Frank Schaeffer, Crazy for God, and Brother Zeoli!

Frank Schaeffer, Crazy for God: How I Grew up as One fo the Elect, Helped Found the Religious Right, and Lived to Take All (Or Almost All) of it Back. New York, Carroll & Graf Publishers, 2007.

An interesting read, to say the least, for Marash Girl, who was raised in the sweetest of sweet United Armenian Bretheren Evangelical Church of Watertown. . . But what a surprise.  In CRAZY FOR GOD, on pages 237-38, Frank Schaeffer, in describing his entry into Hollywood film production, makes reference to Anthony Zeoli.  Wait a minute . . . Could this be the very Zeoli that told Stengaard that he liked his egg "with another one"?  Could this be the very Zeoli that Marash Girl had heard her father joke about all her life (see http://marashgirl.blogspot.com/2011/01/how-do-you-like-your-egg.html)  Frank Schaeffer describes "a first generation Italian American old-time evangelist who had happened to be holding a tent revival in Philadelphia half a century before Billy (Zeoli) came to L'Abri.  Dad (Francis Schaeffer) had walked into Zeoli senior's tent revival when he was seventeen.  He heard Anthony Zeoli preach and discovered that there were other people out there also convinced that the Bible was the answer . . . so there was an unlikely yet special connection between Dad (Francis Schaeffer), the self-effacing hippie guru, and Billy Zeoli, the leisure-suited, luxury-car-renting big spender from  Gospel Films. . . "

The book is worth reading, especially for anyone who was brought up in an evangelical church and is concerned about the coming together of politics and religion in the United States. 

(Frank Schaeffer is the author many books, among them the humorous novel, Portofino, based on his experiences with his missionary family in Italy.)

A BUMPER TO PONDER

Nisha recently told Marash Girl of a conflicted automobile with the following two bumper stickers on the same rear bumper:

On the left:                                                    On the right:
National Rifle Association                                 WWJD? (What Would Jesus Do?)

The tale brought to mind Marash Girl's encounter with a sticker on the rear bumper of an automobile that read, "Honk if you Love Jesus!"  "What fun," Marash Girl thought at the time as she honked, only to be met by the angry glare of the driver of the car sporting that bumper sticker!

A Visit to the Commonwealth Museum

The Commonwealth before it was the Commonwealth

On the deck of the Arbella

Although Marash Girl was unable to photograph the rare original documents on exhibit in darkened rooms at the Commonwealth Museum, she was able to capture a feel for the museum with these photographs.  Very special, however, is the following announcement:  "In partnership with the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, the Friends of the Commonwealth Museum is selling a beautiful portfolio trio of restrikes from the original copper plates of Paul Revere."  And for the elementary school kids, the interactive exhibits are designed to intrigue.

Listen to the story of Moshup and the Aquinnah Wampanoag

The Arrival of the Irish

 Massachusetts & Rhode Island Antiquarian Booksellers are particularly intrigued by the interactive exhibit of historic documents.

A broken record. . .

Overheard at TJMax.  Mother to daughter:  "You sound like a broken record."

Marash Girl thought it was Grandma Jennie talking . . . until she realized where she was, and where her mom was. . .

And anyway, who today knows what listening to a broken record sounds like?

And speaking of bumper stickers

The folks that are complaining about too much government are the same folks (politically speaking) that sponsored the bumper sticker in the late 1960's, early 1970's -  "America: Love it or Leave it!"

Bumper Sticker Provides Food for Thought

"Support your local farmer or watch the houses grow!"

Knitting: Another Scarf for Peace

Knitting itself is a peaceful endeavor; knitting scarves the  Marash Girl way creates the image of peace; wearing those scarves becomes a statement for peace.

Tom Ashbrook and a WBUR volunteer each model "Another Scarf for Peace" in the halls of WBUR.  Photo Credit: Doreen Nicastro

When Marash Girl takes two completely disparate yarns, conflicting in color, texture, weight and fiber, and knits them together into a harmonious whole, she makes real the beauty of conflict resolution.   Folks who buy the scarves support Community Mediation Maryland.  Folks who wear the scarves proudly exhibit their belief in the beauty of peace.

Occupy Walnut Street

Saturday mornings, Newton citizens occupy Walnut Street, (Newtonville Square, Massachusetts,) carrying signs reading "Tax Wall Street, Invest In Jobs",  "People Before Profits", "End the Wars, Cut the Military Budget", "Invest in Walnut Street, not Wall Street:  Use Local Banks", and, you guessed it, "We Are the 99%".

Mayor Setti Warren Welcomes Newton Open Studios to Newton City Hall

On Friday, February 17th, 2012, a reception was held at Newton City Hall for Monochrome and Minimalism, a juried art show sponsored by Newton Open Studios and the first juried art show exhibited in Newton Mayor Setti Warren's offices.  The show includes works by artists Marcy Stuart, Coleman Rogers, Vicki McKenna, Anthony Lobosco, Alla Lazebnik, Amy Kaufman, Sarah Kahn, Zeina Kahhale, Howard Fineman, James Cain.

Aaron Goldman,  Assistant to Newton's Mayor Setti Warren, views an imposing work of art on the walls of the Mayor's Offices on Friday night.

Three works of art exhibited by Newton Open Studios on Friday in front of the Mayor's Office at Newton City Hall, Newton, Massachusetts

Newton, Massachusetts, Mayor Setti Warren (left) poses with a member of the Newton Parks and Recreation Commission in front of the Mayor's offices at a reception for the current Newton Open Studios Art Exhibit.

Tahn - Marash Girl's Favorite Drink!

Whoops.  Yesterday, Marash Girl told you all about Tanabour (Tahnabour) and never mentioned a word about Than (tan, pronounced ton)!  Tahnabour (in Armenian) means soup made from Tahn.  What is Tahn, you ask?  Only Marash Girl's favorite drink in the world!  Bottled in the Middle East, tahn is tangy yogurt with water, or tangy yogurt with sparkling water as in soda pop and available at all the border crossings!  Every time Marash Girl goes to a Middle Eastern restaurant here in New England, she asks for tahn, and if the waiter looks blankly in response, she'll say, "You know . . . I-rrahn (the Turkish word for Tahn, spelled in Turkish, Iran.)  If s/he still doesn't understand, Marash Girl simply asks for a glass of iced water and some yogurt.  Of course, this doesn't always work, because the yogurt may be too sweet (too fresh), and she'll probably need to add salt . . . And often she does.  But made at home, especially on a hot summer's day, a pitcher full of cold Tahn  (tart madzoon mixed with water, approximately a 1 to 3 ratio) poured over ice . . . So refreshing, so delicious!  շատ համով է!

Tahnabour, Mint, and Memories

Here's Grandma Jennie's recipe for Tahnabour, an Armenian soup much praised in Albert Apelian's novel, THE ANTIOCHIANS:

Ingredients
4 cups home made chicken broth, or broth made from boiling lamb bones
1/2 cup dried wheat (dzedzadz) or dried barley, soaked overnight
3 cups madzoon (yogurt)
1/2 cup onion, peeled and chopped, sauteed in butter
1/4 cup chopped mint and parsley
Salt and pepper

Soak wheat or barley over-night in fresh water.   The next morning, strain and rinse the dzedzadz (wheat) or barley in clear water, and put the grain in a large, heavy pot.  Add broth and cook the grain until tender. Meanwhile, stir the madzoon (yogurt) in a separate bowl until smooth.  In a frypan, melt butter and saute the chopped onions. While onions are sauteeing, chop the mint and add to the onions, sauteeing briefly.  Chop the parsley.   Add the sauteed onions, sauteed mint and fresh parsley (not sauteed) to the soup and serve immediately.

Marash Girl's mother, Grandma Jennie, often made this wonderful soup -- one of Marash Girl's favorites.  Grandma Jennie would always use her own home-made madzoon (yogurt) after it had become a bit sour, which happens after about a week. Although this soup is much tastier when the madzoon (yogurt) is sour, the soup can be made with fresh sweet yogurt as well.

Note: During the summer, Grandma Jennie always used mint and parsley freshly picked from her back yard, from Grandpa Peter's garden.  In the fall, one of Grandpa Peter's and Grandma Jennie's favorite activities was drying their harvest of mint.  They would spread brown paper bags torn open over a bed in the guest room and carefully lay out that fall's mint, mint still on the stems that had been rinsed in cool water and swung dry in a clean pillow case.  (On the day that Grandpa Peter passed away, Marash Girl found mint spread out on a bed in the guest room and more mint stored in a drawer of the high boy in that room.)

Further Note:  Grandpa Peter's favorite drink was mint tea (anoukh, as Armenians know it), which Grandma Jennie made for him daily with their home grown mint.  Perhaps that's what kept him alive and well until he was 97 1/2!

Out of the mouths of "babes" . . . .

"Either you can't find the mattress or you can't find the pump." Karoun commenting on Marash Boy's yearly attempts to locate the blow up mattress in order to provide bedding for holiday house guests.

Wisdom, Step by Step

Every day as she climbs up and down the stairs in her Victorian home of three floors and a basement, Marash Girl recalls a refrain repeated by her mother (known as Grandma Jennie to Nisha, Lorig, Deron & Karoun).  Mummy would always call out, as she saw anyone heading upstairs (in her "three-family" home of three floors), "Don't go upstairs empty-handed!" Or when we headed downstairs to the cellar where the pool table abided, "Don't go down empty-handed!"  Thus the habit of always leaving little piles at the tops and bottoms of every staircase, awaiting the chance moment when anyone might be headed in either direction!  (Years ago, Marash Girl noticed that her cousin did the same, even though her house had only two floors and a cellar!  Either her cousin's mother called out to her cousin similarly, or her cousin had heard Auntie Jennie's words of wisdom!) (Marash Girl's mother, by the way, grew up in a three-decker house on Vassal Lane in Cambridge, clearly the source of her daily call of wisdom.)  

Years later, Marash Girl developed the wonderful habit of antiquing, and even later, when she moved to the suburbs, of yard-saling (yard-sailing is how it felt) and lo, and behold, she saw the embodiment of her mother's words! 

The step-basket!   Although Marash Girl did not recognize the basket for what it was (she had to ask), the concept that her mother had taught her all her life was there before her eyes!  It was the wisdom of the ages, the wisdom woven into an antique New England basket, a basket handed down for generations, a wisdom handed down for generations.

Happy Birthday, Lorig!

                 Aravodoun pechets hov,                                                   Lorig, Lorig, ays dari
                 Ardu dzupats,  tartsav dzov,                                             Serdus  tsaner em kari
                 Ardin mechen turav lor,                                                    Oor vor yertas shoud tartsir,
                 Turav ingav tsore tsor.                                                      Ardis mechu munatsir.

                 Gulorig, kulorig, ay Lorig,                                                 Gulorig, kulorig, ay Lorig,
                 Oror--moror, shororig.                                                       Oror--moror, shororig.

This is an Armenian lullaby/love song using the metaphor of the soft, round quail for the loved one.

WBUR: A JOKE ON THE UPCOMING PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION

Early Saturday morning, listening to WBUR, Marash Girl heard the following joke which she herewith shares:

A conservative, a liberal and a moderate walked into a bar.

The bartender said, "Hi, Mitt!"

A Samuel Clemens diss!

Janet Sterman recently emailed Marash Girl the following:

"If you do not read the local paper, you are not informed.
  If you do read the local paper, you are misinformed."
Samuel Clemens (pen name - Mark Twain)

Not sure, but Ms. Sterman may have wanted to apply the quotation to blogs, and specifically to Marash Girl!  Oh, dear!

WBUR: Volunteer, Eat, Drink, and be Merry!

So there she was, Marash Girl and her friends, all supporters of WBUR, all volunteering for the WBUR Valentine's Day fundraiser, all eyeing the delicious highly caloric breakfast  rolls that WBUR offers its volunteers, all muttering, "But I'm on a diet," so of course, Marash Girl quipped the well-known (or at least she thought it was well known) quotation, "Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we diet!"   Strange as it seems, or at least, strange as it seemed to Marash Girl, nobody had heard the joke before!  One volunteer admitted to being familiar with the original quotation (Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die) which is a conflation of two Biblical verses  (ecclesiastes 8:15  and isaiah 22:13), but none had ever heard, "Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we diet!"

None of the folks were original New Englanders -- perhaps that's why -- or maybe they were all just too young!

Lucky in games, unlucky in love. Lucky in love, unlucky in games.

Whenever Marash Girl played Backgammon (Tavlu) ardently hoping to win, she would invariably lose.  Because of her loss, a visiting uncle always comforted her with these words:  "Lucky in love, unlucky in games." Or was it,  "Lucky in games, unlucky in love."  (Either way, the poetry of the comforting words sounded a lot better in Armenian.) Whichever way that expression went, here's the wisdom that Marash Girl gleaned from those "comforting" words . . . "Be careful what you wish for!"

The Golden Songbook and Old Time Radio

Recently going through a box of old books, Marash Girl came upon this book which dredged up so many wonderful memories.  As very young girls, Marash Girl and her cousin Pauline would listen faithfully to Voltarine Block's radio program, "The Children's Songbag".  One week they decided to send in postcard naming the mystery song for that week.  Their postcard was drawn; the won the above book -- the only thing they ever on -- long enjoyed, but when long forgotten, provided great pleasure for scribbling to the kids who came later.

Back cover reminiscent of Miss Irene Forte, long time violin teacher at the All Newton Music School, Newtonville, Massachusetts

  Inscription reads "To Bethel and Pauline Bilezikian from Voltairine Block with every good wish.  Musical guessing game played on Saturday, July 31, 1948"

                       

Title page reminiscent of daily piano practicing for all the girls at 474/476 Lowell Avenue, Newtonville, Massachusetts

New England Patriots, Sunday, February 5, 2012

"We learn more from our losses than from our wins." . . .  Peter Koutoujian, Sheriff, Middlesex County, Massachusetts

Although Sheriff Koutoujian was referring to political campaigns, Marash Girl offers his words as comfort to those of us who were rooting for the New England Patriots in the Superbowl game on Sunday, February 5, 2012.

Nightmares in the New World: Another Tale for Taraf

Interesting about fear and nightmares.  They often occur after the experience  of horror is long past.  (Is the contemporary name for this post-traumetic stress, perhaps?)  

Dad said he never feared for anything during those years filled with horror, the years of the Armenian Genocide, the Genocide he and his mother and brother and sisters had miraculously survived.  It was not until he was safely ensconced in the United States (see Marash Girl, Feb. 1, A Tale for Taraf) that he started having the nightmares, Turks pulling out his teeth, Turks pulling out his fingernails, and more which he dared not mention to his young daughter.  Nightly he woke up in a sweat, screaming in his bedroom in Brighton, Massachusetts.  He dreamed dreams of horror night after night, until one evening, his mother came into his room, and asked him to kneel down by his bedside and ask the Lord to take away those nightmares.  He goes on.  "I knelt down next to my bed and I cried out to God, asking God to save me from those nightmares, to take them away; with every inch of my being I prayed my prayer."  "Did you ever have another nightmare, Dad?"  "Never," was his answer.  "Never."

Walter Reed Hospital's Banning of the Bible in November, 2011

The banning of books, any books, has always been anathema to Marash Girl, akin to the burning of books.  Perhaps, you say, Marash Girl has spent too much of her life living with antiquarian books, saving them from the trash, from the recycle bins, from the bonfires, refurbishing them and selling them to folks who value books as the history of thought, as a source of inspiration, as beautiful objects, as old friends, as comforters.

At the end of November, 2011, Walter Reed Hospital (Walter Reed National Military Medical Center, Washington, DC) issued a memorandum updating caretakers on changes in patient visitation rules: "No religious items (i.e. Bibles, reading material and/or artifacts) are allowed to be given away or used during a visit."  Huh?  Could this have been for real?  Well, thankfully it was only "for real" until December 9, 2011, when the hospital issued the following statement:   "The visitation policy as written was incorrect and should have been more thoroughly reviewed before its release. It has been rescinded."

One can only wonder who slipped that little "rule" into the book of rules at Walter Reed Hospital and why.

Redbird . . . through a glass darkly . . .

                                                                                    Photo by Marash Girl
    
Redbird on the limb of an evergreen tree 
on a grey winter's day in New England, through a glass darkly.  
                                                    

Two ingredients and you're done!

Two ingredients and you're done!  But the first ingredient, a perfectly ripe avocado is easier said than done.  The second ingredient, Newman's Own all natural bottled Medium or Hot Salsa is easier done than said.

Cut a ripe avocado in half. Remove and discard the pit (discard unless you want to grow an avocado tree -- see Marash Girl's blog for August 31, 2011, by clicking this link:  http://marashgirl.blogspot.com/search?q=avocado.)  Spoon out avocado from husk.  Mash with fork.  Add 1 or 2 tablespoons of bottled all natural salsa and stir with fork.  Serve with corn chips or use as an interesting addition to your next chicken sandwich!

Note: This recipe originated with Marashmallow Fluff of Texas!

Humor that may offend

If politically incorrect humor offends you, read no further.

A Jew, a Greek and an Armenian are in conversation after a friendly round of golf.  They all take out cigars.  

The Jew says, I'm so wealthy that I light my cigars with a five dollar bill.  He pulls out a $5 bill, strikes a match, puts the match  to the $5 bill, and lights his cigar with the flaming $5 bill.

The Greek replies, I'm so wealthy that I light my cigars with a $20 bill.  He pulls out a $20 bill, strikes a match, puts the match to the $20 bill, and lights his cigar with the flaming $20 bill.

The Armenian grins, and says, I'm so wealthy that I use $100 to light my cigars with.   He pulls out his check book, writes a check for $100, strikes a match, puts the match to the check, and lights his cigar with the flaming $100 check.

[Another joke from the archives of Marash Girl's father.]

A Joke on the Bartender

A minister, a priest, and a rabbi walk into a bar.

The bartender asks, "What is this, a joke?"

This joke has become one of Marash Girl's favorites, a joke which she found while reading the introduction to Jim Holt's STOP ME IF YOU'VE HEARD THIS:  A HISTORY AND PHILOSOPHY OF JOKES. NY, W. W. Norton, 2008.

A Tale for Taraf

Tervant Dakessian Sanjian, Marash Boy's kermer (his mother's brother's mother, i.e., his maternal grandmother),  was a surivivor of the death march during the Armenian Genocide.  Her mantra:  "Gun bu gun,   zaht, bu zaht."  (Rough translation: Day? The day is Today. Time? The time is now.) She believed in accepting her lot, in living in the present.  And that's no wonder, once we learn of her past.  She was tiny (under 5 feet tall) and fearless, the woman who, during summers on the 20 acres in Wilbraham, Massachusetts, would reach up and grab the ear of the lead cow in a wandering herd, herding it and its family back across the fields to their rightful pasture.  She was a staunch believer in Christ, a woman whose faith had carried her through the worst of times. But she still had nightmares.  Marash Boy, only a young fellow at the time, was sharing a bedroom with his kermer and was asked to calm her during her  nocturnal visits to the past.  His mother, (known in these blogs as Medzmama), also a survivor of the Armenian Genocide,  speaking Armenian, comforted Marash Boy's fears: "Mi vakhnar.  Don't be afraid. When Kermer starts screaming & crying in the night, just hug her and tell her that it's okay, that she's here in the room with you, that she's in Springfield, Massachusetts, not Marash, Turkey, that she's in the United States, not the Ottoman Empire, that the horror is past, that she is safe at home, with her daughter and her grandchildren."
                                                    -------------------------------------------------------

When Marash Girl and Karoun first attended a viewing of MY BIG FAT GREEK WEDDING, they sat in the center front of the West Newton Cinema.  The film should have been named MY BIG FAT ARMENIAN WEDDING, they said to each other. From the overprotective Greek father, the wonderfully enthusiastic Greek aunts, the music played on oud and dumbeg, and yes . . . the plastic covering the couches, the kich and over the top plastic wedding decorations (complete with fiberglass parthenon columns/pillars), the line dancing, the food, the home remedies (if you've seen the film, you must remember the Windex!)  It was all so familiar. . . and so hilarious.  Strangely, THEY were the only ones in the theatre laughing, and they were laughing very loudly!

But part of the film was no laughing matter.  When discussing MY BIG FAT GREEK WEDDING with their American (read here  'Non-Armenian') friends, Marash Girl and Karoun had to listen to said friends critique the character of the Greek grandmother, all dressed in black, hunched over, with a black shesh over her head, crazily running through the neighborhood screaming.  It didn't fit; it didn't make sense to them because they knew nothing of the atrocities and massacres to the Greek and Armenian populations committed by the Young Turks early in the 20th Century.  What that old grandmother had seen and remembered was more than any one of them could have even imagined, much less lived through.