Who Forgot Her Scooter?

Photo by MarashGirl©2021

GROWING UP WITH THREE FAMILIES IN A TWO FAMILY HOUSE!

Growing up with three families in a two family house . . . that was the fun part!!! The problem was that we all had breakfast, lunch and dinner at the same time, though not necessarily all together . . . so when the time came that folks had to use the bathroom, we kids who lived on the first floor had to run to the second floor, and if that family's bathroom was busy, we had to run to the third floor where Grandma and Grandpa slept, and if that bathroom was busy, we had to run back to the first floor, hoping against all hope that that bathroom would be free by the time we reached it!

Remembering Auntie Nectar's Farm

One summer Sunday afternoon, many years ago, during a family visit to Auntie Nectar's farm in Hopkinton (in the old days, about an hour west of Boston along Route 20 by car), ten-year-old Marash Girl was happily walking barefoot through the grass when poison ivy first met with the bottoms of Marash Girl's bare feet . . . and this, much to the dismay of all the adults who watched with horror and shouted out warnings. . . but the warnings came too late . . . the poison ivy was already crushed under Marash Girl's pobik dodiks. The miracle was that Marash Girl's feet did fine . . . no poison ivy followed her feet home, thank the Lord! Marash Girl still wonders if the poison ivy survived to tell the tale.

"Just get her married!"

Blog for Wednesday, February 17, 2020: Told to Marash Girl's father when Marash Girl was applying to colleges: "Why do you want to waste your money sending her to college? Just get her married!"

Marash Girl, Marash Martha, and Country & Western Music

Growing up in Newtonville, Marash Girl and Marash Martha, then only 5 or 6 years old, were gifted a radio by their father and mother. (Perhaps because they would wake up so early in the morning that they didn't allow their mother and father the sleep their parents needed!). The two girls delighted in listening to "Country and Western Music" on that radio, music that began playing, as Marash Girl remembers, as early as 5 o'clock every morning. It was such fun for the girls that Marash Martha actually, at one time, wanted to grow up to be a "cow girl"! Recalling those days, Marash Martha writes,"The best part was the yodeling!"

What's black and white and red all over?

"What's black and white and red (read) all over?" An age old riddle Marash Girl has dredged up from her childhood . . . a riddle to which most folks would proffer the answer, "a newspaper" . . . but then, if you're a kid, you would be more likely to answer "an embarrassed zebra". . . especially if you had just returned from a visit to the Franklin Park Zoo. Do you, dear reader, have any other wiley answers?

Remembering With Thanks The Poem That Dad Made Marash Girl Learn In 3rd Grade

The message still as clear as day!  How this poem shaped Marash Girl's philosophy of life.

 For a' That and 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 tho' on hamely fare we dine,

         Wear hoddin-gray, an' a' that;

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,

         A man's a man for a' that.

                For a' that, an' 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 riband, star, an' a' that,

                The man o' independent mind,

                        He looks and 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,

         May bear the gree, an' a' that.

                For a' that, an' a' that,

                        It's coming yet, for a' that,

                That man to man, the warld o'er,

                        Shall brothers be for a' that.

Remembering the Little Red Store

 One of the wonderful memories of childhood is walking up to the Little Red Store.  Marash Girl's house on Lowell Avenue was far from shops:  a block from a wooded area with a spring at the base of the hill, and over a mile to Newtonville Square.  But going south on Lowell Avenue, we could walk to the little red store (if we had parents accompanying us, because, in order to get there, we had to cross busy Commonwealth Avenue).  As Marash Girl remembers this little store, it was a variety store that offered adults basic grocery needs such as milk and bread . . . and kids their basic needs -- popsicles!!!  Marash Girl loved it when her mom would walk with her and her brother and sister up Lowell Avenue, to Commonwealth Avenue (where the rich folks lived), across Commonwealth Avenue, past the Newton City Hall, to the little red store.  It wasn't there long, but it still lives on in Marash Girl's memory.  Thank you, Little Red Store, for the treats that you always had awaiting us kids!!!!

Spit up?

                                     Aşağı tükürsen sakal, yukarı tükürsen bıyık.

                      "Spit up, you hit your mustache; spit down, you hit your beard."  

(Actually the reverse in the above Turkish expression which translates,  "Spit down, you hit your beard; spit up, you hit your mustache."). . . a common saying in Marash Girl's house growing up. In college she learned that in English, to express the same meaning, one would say, "Caught between Scylla and Charibdis; caught between a rock and a hard place."  Marash Girl guesses that every culture has its conundrums!!!!

Bir yumuşağı var mı?

In the old days, whenever we visited relatives on a Sunday afternoon, Daddy and Mommy would stop at a local pharmacy to buy a box of Whitman's Chocolates.  We would never arrive at anyone's house empty-handed, and in that all of the Armenians in those days baked their own elegant pastries, carrying Mommy's wonderful apple pie, brownies, or banana cake would not be particularly appreciated.  Therefore, it would be a box of Whitman's Chocolates that we would carry with us to our khunami's house.  And always, the grandmother of the family, after opening the box, would ask, "Bir yumuşağı var mı?"  Is there a soft one?  Because in those days, very few grandmothers could afford false teeth.  It was less costly simply to have the offending molars removed.  But that's for another blog post.  For now, let's stick to the chocolates.  Marash Martha and Marash Girl would be delighted to offer our guests the chocolates with soft centers, because we hated them!!! In fact, when folks brought those boxes of chocolates to our house, we would secretly press in the bottoms of the chocolates, surreptitiously replacing the chocolates that gave in to our thumb's pressure . . .  until we found one that did not give in . . .  a chocolate covered nut!  Hooray!

"There Is No God. Prove."

"There Is No God.  Prove."  So began the otherwise blank final exam in Humanities Five, Introduction to Philosophy.  "Thank you, God," grinned Marash Girl as she began, hammer and tong, or should I say, pen and paper, to attack the question.  Her answer?  Her answer has been written throughout the Bible, throughout many a hymnal.  God exists.  She wrote two pages, asserting her belief, and the reasons for her belief, and . . . the final grades were posted.  She was the only student in the class to receive an "A" on the exam.  "Why was that?" everyone asked.  Do you know the answer, dear reader?

N.B.  Marash Girl may have written about this experience in past blogposts, but suffer her one more time to remember the graciousness of her Professor Aiken at Harvard University.

One of Marash Girl's Favorite Poems . . .One Poem Left from the Old Days

When I Was One-and-Twenty

                          by A.E HOUSMAN                

When I was one-and-twentyI heard a wise man say,

“Give crowns and pounds and guineas

       But not your heart away;

Give pearls away and rubies

       But keep your fancy free.”

But I was one-and-twenty,

       No use to talk to me.

When I was one-and-twenty

       I heard him say again,

“The heart out of the bosom

       Was never given in vain;

’Tis paid with sighs a plenty

       And sold for endless rue.”

And I am two-and-twenty,

       And oh, ’tis true, ’tis true.

Trading at Lunchtime in Newton Corner, Massachusetts

Marash Girl would carefully package lamejun and veggies every weekday for the kiddies' lunch only to learn that they had traded their lamejun lunch with the odar children for sandwiches of peanut butter and jelly on white bread. . . . . Go figure . . .

N.B. Odar=Non-Armenian

Put Up or Shut Up

Whenever kids in Marash Girl's elementary school (Claflin School) would get into a heated argument over something mindless (can't even think of an example), one kid would say to the other, "Put up or shut up!"  meaning, "Put up your dukes or shut up!"  Dukes?  Fists.  The disagreer usually shut up!

The Pink Barn

Little Girl:  What's that?

Marash Girl: A barn!

Little Girl:  Why isn't it painted red?

Marash Girl:  You can paint your barn whatever color you want!

Little Girl:  When I grow up and have a barn, I'm going to paint my barn pink!

"I wanna be a drunk when I grow up!"

When I was a  boy living on Lincoln Street (which is no longer there) in Brighton, Massachusetts, that was during the 1920's,  I  wanted to be a drunk when I grew up.

Why is that?

Because the drunks that I saw on the streets and sleeping in the hallways of the "Three Castles" (our apartment complex) . . .   those drunks were always happy! replied Peter Bilezikian,  a man who had survived the Armenian Genocide.