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

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!

GEORGE WESTINGHOUSE: POWERING THE WORLD

The editors of William R. Huber's recently published volume, GEORGE WESTINGHOUSE: POWERING THE WORLD, were in contact with Marash Girl while the publication of this volume  was still in the process of completion.  Why were they in contact with Marash Girl?  Because Marash Girl's father used to sell Westinghouse products at his shop, Newtonville Electrical Co., Inc., in Newtonville, Massachusetts?  No.  Because her father was favored by the Westinghouse Company to repair their products that others found impossible to repair?  All true, but, "No."

The editors of GEORGE WESTINGHOUSE: POWERING THE WORLD were in contact with Marash Girl to ask permission to use her photograph of the plaque commemorating Manhattan's Pearl Street Station, a photograph which appeared in her Marash Girl blog, because, apparently it was the only photograph on the internet of said plaque.  

What was Marash Girl going to say?  "No?"

Nope.  

Marash Girl, of course, was honored to say, "Yes!" And last week, as a thank you for Marash Girl's largesse, the publishers sent Marash Girl a brand new copy of William R. Huber's newly published book, GEORGE WESTINGHOUSE: POWERING THE WORLD.  

 

Should you decide to acquire a copy of the above pictured book, check out the photograph of the plaque commemorating the Pearl Street Station in Manhattan, the photograph published on page 107 of  Huber's GEORGE WESTINGHOUSE: POWERING THE WORLD, the photograph taken one day in Manhattan by Marash Girl!

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!"

SENIORS CELEBRATE CHRISTMAS IN NEWTONVILLE

Photo by MarashGirl©2021

Photo by MarashGirl©2021

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.

"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"!!!

Cardboard Tubes?

Remember those cardboard tubes that are left after the toilet paper is finished? What fun Marash Girl and her siblings and cousins had years ago, marching around the house "Toot - toot - tooting" through those tubes . . . They weren't tubes for the cousins . . . they were brass horns!!! Few toys in the house contributed to lots of creativity and lots of fun for Marash Girl, her sister, her brother, and her cousins!

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!

Only A Handful Of Screws

"It's only a handful of screws," you say, as you roll your eyes. But what if, one day, you had a specific need for one of those screws? Thus, Marash Girl salvaged the screws from the sidewalk today when she went for her morning stroll. She stashed those screws away in Marash Boy's tool box, as she remembered her father Peter and what he would have said . . . "You never know when you're going to need a screw of exactly that size . . ."

Photo by MarashGirl©2021

The Way Marash Girl Remembers Newtonville Square

Above Image Taken From A Vintage Postcard The above image (unknown photographer/historian) looks southward down Walnut Street towards the then Newton High School (what is now known as Newton North High School, very different structures than existed at the time this photo was taken). The photo was taken from just south of Bowers Street (Bowers Street was where the train station and Newtonville Electrical Company were originally located), and Newtonville Avenue (where Newtonville Electrical Company built and moved to its new location at 439 Newtonville Avenue in Newtonville Square). n.b. Newtonville Electrical Company was the shop that Marash Girl's father and uncle established early in the 20th Century.

Summers and the Ice Cream Truck!

And speaking of ice cream . . . When Marash Girl and her sister, her brother, her cousins, and her neighbors, were kids on Lowell Avenue, the ice cream truck would slowly drive along Lowell Avenue, the driver ringing his cheery bell . . . most probably on a Sunday afternoon, as Marash Girl recalls. None of us kids had any "spare change", as we were all still very young . . . and yet we loved ice cream so much. We would shout to the driver to stop, and then run and hide as the driver of the truck paused and looked around for his next customers . . . Sorry, ice cream truck driver! We didn't understand how disappointed you would be to find no customers when you pulled your truck over to the side of the road. We were just kids!

Happy Birthday, Anoushigus!!!

Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday, dear Deron, Happy Birthday to you. . . And many more!!!!!

Above photo of Grandma Jennie Vartanian Bilezikian and Deron Charkoudian taken many years ago by Marash Girl in the backyard on the north/east side of the family home at 474/476 Lowell Avenue, Newtonville, Massachusetts.

On Peeling An Orange . . .

Yesterday, watching Marash Boy meticulously trying to peel an orange, struggling as he was breaking the orange peel off into bits, brought to mind Uncle Paul's orange peeling skills! Pulling out his trusty jack knife, a knife he kept in his pocket at all times, most often using it to strip the insulation off two pieces of wire so he could connect them . . .Uncle Paul would entertain all the young 'uns as he twirled his knife around the skin of an orange, removing that skin in one curvaceous piece . . . a piece that Marash Girl and her cousins and siblings would love to bounce gently as they could recreate the orange in its wholeness and disassemble it as quickly. To this day, Marash Girl peels her oranges in that fashion, sometimes succeeding in accomplishing Uncle Paul's feat and bouncing the orange skin up and down as she used to do in her childhood . . . Thank you, Uncle Paul, for that fun memory!!! Although Marash Girl has recorded this memory in the past, allow her the luxury of reliving the moment as she once again remembers Uncle Paul peeling an orange. It should be noted that oranges were a rare treat in Marash, so special that Uncle Paul and his brother Peter and sisters Gulenia and Rosie each recieved an orange as a special gift only at Christmas. Marash Girl's guess is that they even planted the seeds to see if they could sprout their own orange tree. At least, that's what Grandpa Peter did when he was living in Newtonville . . . and he even managed to grow an orange tree from seed, but his orange tree never gave fruit. Luckily, by then, he could afford to provide many oranges . . . one for himself and one for each of member of his family every day.

Remembering Sunday Trips To Ferjulian's Farm in Hudson, Massachusetts

Not during the winter months, but often, on a summer's Sunday, Uncle Paul would drive us to Ferjulian's farm in Hudson, Massachusetts . . . a beautiful trip through country roads to a beautiful farm to get beautiful produce and an ice cream treat on the way home!!!! Was it from Ferjulian's farm that Grandpa Peter bought the tomato plants for his backyard garden? Was it from Ferjulian farm that Uncle Paul purchased the young fruit trees planted along the border of our back and side yards in Newtonville? Thank you, Daddy, for the fresh vegetables throughout the summer and autumn days of our childhood . . . Thank you, Uncle Paul, for the wonderful fruit fresh off the trees in our back yard . . . and thank you Mummy, Daddy, Uncle Paul, and Auntie Zabelle for our childhood full of love, wonderful food, and wonderful adventures!

BMB Loves BMB!!!!

Once her sister, brother, cousins and neighbors learned that Marash Girl had the same initials as the handsome young neighbor boy, (initials in title changed to protect the innocent), the chanting began! BMB loves BMB! BMB loves BMB! BMB loves BMB! BMB loves BMB! So the chant continued. "BMB loves BMB! BMB loves BMB! BMB loves BMB!" Unnerving to say the least, and a bit scary, as the chanters and the two BMB's were all still in elementary school!!! Yesterday, when Marash Girl looked for BMB on the internet, she learned he had passed away two years ago. May God rest Marash Girl's childhood friend's soul and welcome her friend, BMB. into God's Kingdom.

The Music of Her Childhood

Falling asleep last night, Marash Girl remembered the music of her childhood, the clicking roll of the dice, the slam of the backgammon (tavlu) pieces (black though slightly worn, or cream colored, depending on the players' preference), the rhythms that nightly rocked her into slumber. "Juarah du!" "Du shesh!" "Du barah!" "Shesh besh!" The memory, albeit everpresent, was brought to the fore by Marash Girl's reading of the book of poetry now in print for the first time: FIRST GENERATION, Poetic Memories, written by Krikor Der Hohannesian, published by Dos Madres Press.

A must read, from Marash Girl's perspective. To order a signed copy of FIRST GENERATION, Krikor Der Hohannesian's newly published book of poetry, email the poet at krikorndh@verizon.net or order from the poet at the address below: Krikor N. Der Hohannesian 31 Boston Avenue Medford, MA 02155-6721 The cost of the book is $22.00 which includes shipping and handling. Enjoy!