How Do You Play Hop Scotch Using Negative Numbers?

Didn't even know "minus" numbers existed in the days when we used to play hopscotch along Lowell Avenue's newly cemented sidewalks! (On those previously rocky dirt sidewalks, playing hop scotch had been impossible!)

Photo by MarashGirl©2022

Still Remembering This Sunday Sermon . . .

Don't expect the devil to appear in a red suit with horns and a forked tail . . . when the devil appears, he'll be speaking softly, all dressed up in a white shirt and red tie, a dark suit and freshly polished shoes.

Marash Girl Remembers A Novel She Once Read When She Was 10 Years Old

Marash Girl remembers a novel she once read when she was 10 years old.  Marash Girl doesn't remember the title of the novel, but  she remembers very well the main thrust of the novel.  A little girl had recently moved with her family to Arizona and it was winter, but winter in Arizona is warm!  Every year, for as long as she could remember,  her parents would make ice cream for her birthday using the snow and ice that used to accumulate outside of their New England home to freeze up the cream and sugar in their ice cream maker.  But this particular year, there was no such hope.  She was so sad when her birthday came . . . until . . . a hailstorm fell on that very day and made it possible for her family to make  ice cream for the little girl's birthday using the hail stones to freeze up the cream in the ice cream maker.  The little girl had experienced a miracle, indeed!

PETER AND THE HONEY BEES

And speaking of honey comb brings to mind summer and the honey bees . . . 

Peter was deathly allergic to the sting of the honey bee; his brother, Paul, was in love with honey bees!  Vaht to do?  The edeh won out and raised honey bees, harvesting honey every fall.  Peter never got stung until, one summer's day, he did; he was pursued by a swarm of bees for whatever reason, only the bees know. Peter dutifully went into the arms of a low growing plum tree in his back yard, the leafy branches of which he knew would protect him from being attacked by the swarm.  The branches did their duty and Peter survived, no thanks to the bees!!! They kept trying!!!!

N.B.  Perhaps that's the reason Marash Girl has a distaste for honey!

An Icy Greeting On A Sunday Morning!

                                                                                                                                                        Photo by MarashGirl©2022

 We kids used to love to suck on icicles, but Marash Girl doubts we could have handled this one!

Newton High School Class of 1958

                         Thanks to Dan Morrison for this photo picturing several members of                      Newton High School  Class of 1958.  

 Please email or comment if you can identify any of the folks pictured above.

"Saçu boyanmīsh!"

"Saçu boyanmīsh!" . . . a statement which, to this day, Marash Girl can hear Grandma Yester announcing in those very words, a statement Grandma Yester made whenever she spied a woman in her forties or fifties with shiny brown or shiny black hair. She was so proud of her abilities to detect such fakery. Grandma Yester herself had brown hair with only a few strands of grey until she was well into her 80's. . . as did her daughter, Marash Girl's mummy Jennie! And Marash Girl? Not sayin'!

"Oh, Come To The Church In The Wildwood . . ."

Remembering the little white church on Plum Island (see blogpost for Sunday, 1/23) brought the following song to mind, a song that was a favorite of Marash Girl's father, one he would often sing, sing, sing, sing! The Church in the Wildwood by Dr. William S. Pitts There's a church in the vale by the wildwood, No lovelier spot in the dale; No place is so dear to my childhood As the little brown church in the vale. Chorus Oh, come, come, come, come, Come to the church in the wildwood, Oh, come to the church in the vale; No spot is so dear to my childhood As the little brown church in the vale.

Yegoor, Bahchig Daahm!

Marash Girl forwarded the following illustration to an Armenian friend who resides in the Middle East (parenthetically, a friend she has never met . . . or kissed!): "Yegoor, yelag daahm!"(which translates from the Armenian into English, "Come, I'll give you a strawberry . . .")

Illustration taken from the internet. Her friend's response? "Yegoor, bahchig daahm!" (...which roughly translates, "Come, I'll give you a kiss!") . . . a phrase typically used when an adult is speaking to a young child in response to the child's offering something . . . But, hey! Marash Girl will take it!!! Note: The "a" sound in Armenian rhymes with the "u" in the English word "drum".

The Little White Church On Plum Island

Marash Girl woke up today remembering . . . no, not the Little Brown Church In The Vale, but the little white church on the island . . . Plum Island! Is this the church she remembered?

Or was it this one?

Marash Girl must have been 7 or 8 years old -- or younger -- when the family was visiting Plum Island for a week and she first saw the little white church. She remembers asking her father why they weren't going to church there . . . it was Sunday, after all. She doesn't remember his answer . . . all she knows is that because it was not THEIR church, she couldn't attend!!! She was so disappointed. Marash Girl thinks that that was probably one of the only Sundays in her childhood that she had not attended church, or at least, one of the only days in her childhood she had not attended Sunday School! N.B. Images taken from the internet.

"GROWING PAINS!"

When Marash Girl was a little girl, (or better put, when Marash Girl was "growing up") and she complained that something hurt . . . her ankle, her knee, her elbow, her thumb . . . , her father would reply, "Don't worry. Ignore it. It's just growing pains!" These days, if something hurts, Marash Girl remembers her father's words, laughs and responds, if only to herself and those of you who read this blog, "Yep! Ignore it. It's just growing old pains!"

A Man's A Man For A' That!

When Marash Girl was attending Third Grade at Claflin School in Newtonville, Miss Griffin (Marash Girl's third greade teacher) required each student to memorize and recite a poem in front the class weekly. One of the poems that Marash Girl's dad insisted she memorize for the class, a poem that has influenced her approach to life to this day, is the the poem printed below. Although Marash Girl can no longer recite the poem, she was readily able to find it on the internet. Hope it's not too heavy for the season! Here goes . .. A Man’s a Man for a’ That by Robert Burns Is there for honest poverty That hings his head, an’ a’ that; The coward-slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a’ that! For a’ that, an’ a’ that. Our toils obscure an’ a’ that, The rank is but the guinea’s stamp, The Man’s the gowd for a’ that. What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin grey, an’ a that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine; A Man’s a Man for a’ that: For a’ that, and a’ that, Their tinsel show, an’ a’ that; The honest man, tho’ e’er sae poor, Is king o’ men for a’ that. Ye see yon birkie ca’d a lord, Wha struts, an’ stares, an’ a’ that, Tho’ hundreds worship at his word, He’s but a coof for a’ that. For a’ that, an’ a’ that, His ribband, star, an’ a’ that, The man o’ independent mind, He looks an’ laughs at a’ that. A Prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, an’ a’ that! But an honest man’s aboon his might – Guid faith, he mauna fa’ that! For a’ that, an’ a’ that, Their dignities, an’ a’ that, The pith o’ Sense an’ pride o’ Worth Are higher rank than a’ that. Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a’ that, That Sense and Worth, o’er a’ the earth Shall bear the gree an’ a’ that. For a’ that, an’ a’ that, It’s comin yet for a’ that, That Man to Man the warld o’er Shall brithers be for a’ that. N.B. It is interesting to note that Marash Girl's dad's best friend, Rev. Ian MacDonald, was born in Scotland.

Funny. . . You don't look Armenian!

When Marash Girl was growing up, and found herself in a group where she felt the need to identify her ethnicity, she would proudly announce, "I'm Armenian!" . . . meaning, of course, that she was of Armenian heritage, born here in the good old U.S.A.
Often, however, the response she received to her annoucement was the following: "Funny, you don't look Armenian!" And why did neither she nor her brother nor her sister (nor her father) (all of whom were blonde and blue-eyed, except for Marash Girl) . . . why did they not look Armenian? According to Marash Girl's father, it was because of the Crusaders who may have only passed through Marash all those many years ago, but, as her father would put it, ". . . they stayed long enough to leave their seed!"

One Day From The Old Days . . .

Photographer Uncertain but probably Anthony Lepore of Brooklyn, New York Back Row Left to Right: Pauline, Martha, Bethel Front Row Left to Right: John, Carol, Mary Lepore, James Photo circa 1952: front steps at 474 Lowell Avenue, Newtonville, Massachusetts With thanks to brother James (front row, right) for sending Marash Girl the photo.

Lost something?

When Marash Girl was a kid, and she was unable to locate something, she would wail, "I've lost my favorite . . . " (You fill in the blank.) Whenever her father would hear her make that statement, he would comment, "If your head were not attached to your body, you'd lose that as well!"

"Are you ARMENIAN?"

And, appropos of yesterday's blog, another memory on "being Armenian"! One day, after the conclusion of her kindergarten class at Claflin School, Marash Girl was walking along the sidewalk paralleling Walnut Street heading for her daddy's store in Newtonville Square. Along the way, as she passed the "Five And Ten", she looked up and saw a woman who looked just like one of her aunties. Excited, she asked the woman, "Are you Armenian?" Offended, the woman whipped back, "I beg your pardon!" That was the last time Marash Girl ever asked that question of a stranger!

Stepping Back A Moment In Time To Remember Baking With Grandma Jennie At 474 Lowell Avenue

When Marash Girl found the tin cup pictured below in a dark corner of her kitchen cabinet, she remembered the fun days of baking goodies with her mom and sister and brother at 474 Lowell Avenue in Newtonville . . . however, were he still with us, Grandpa Peter would comment upon seeing the photograph of the cup pictured below, "Those days are gone, forever!"

Photo by MarashGirl©2021

BMB LOVES BMB!

Yesterday's blog picturing love memorialized in stone, as it were, or more precisely inscribed in cement, brought to mind an incident from Marash Girl's childhood . . . Once the young 'uns in the family and the neighborhood learned that the boy next door had the same intials as Marash Girl, it was all over for both the boy and Marash Girl . . . the chants of "BMB loves BMB" haunted the two for months, thus ensuring that both the boy and Marash Girl would rarely look at each other again, much less greet each other! N.B. Barry, should you be reading this blog, Marash Girl is sending her "love"!!!

Carved In Stone . . .

A love carved in stone . . . (or cement, to be more precise!)

Photo by MarashGirl©2021

Looking At Life Through The Eyes Of A Child

Photo by MarashGirl©2021