Mystery at Cold Spring Park: The Handwriting on the Wall

"This is to inform you that I didn't die young." (Look to the left side of the cement foundation for the hand printed message.)                               Photo by Marash Girl

Walking through Cold Spring Park on a cold spring day, Marash Girl and Marash Boy came upon an old cellar hole with the following message printed neatly on the cracked cement foundation:

"This is to inform you that I didn't die young."

Unsure as to who wrote the message or why, whether the owner of the house or the house itself was the "I" in the sentence, and who the "you" was meant to be, Marash Boy and Marash Girl decided to depart the scene quietly, leaving the mystery  for a Newton author of the mystery genre to discover and uncover!

Bavarians originated in Armenia?

We from Marash have always suspected that we may have Germanic roots . . partially because of the local name of our city, "Germanikia" (Latin & Old Armenian) and our periodical, "Kermanig" - And partly because of our appearance --   Marash Girl's father was blonde with blue eyes, her sister and brother both blonde with blue eyes, her husband with blue eyes and white skin, (he's also Marashtsi), and her children, all but one, blonde with blue eyes!  And partly because tradition has it that the Germans stopped over during the Crusades, and some stayed!

Here's the other side of the story written by a friend from Germany:

"I am still convinced of the  Bavarians' origin from Armenia, as it was told here in the Middle Ages! ;-)
Germanicia as a name existed in the Roman Empire.
Colored Easter eggs are also a tradition here. In the old days they were colored with different natural colors (among them onion skins) and were made shiny with bacon. . . 

"And there is a kind of game pecking the hard boiled Easter eggs to another and the one whose egg does not break can keep both.

"I think you can find all you want to know in

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Annolied (copied below):"

Bavarians descended from Armenians

In the poem, folk tales collected by the Bavarians, telling of the exodus of their ancestors from Armenia. In particular, states that Armenians still speak the language, which initially Bavarians talked . The name "Bavaria" is derived from the name of an Armenian prince Bayorus, which led his tribe came from Armenia, from the vicinity of Mount Ararat, and breaking a long way, made it to Germany, settling in the south and the land called by his name "Bavaria".

Fragment in the original old-Germanic

Here is an excerpt from the poem in the original version, the old-Germanic language, which describes the history of the Bavarians. Duo sich Beirelant wider in virmaz, Die mêrin Reginsburch her se bisaz, Dâ vanter inne Helm unti brunigen, Manigin helit guodin, Die dere burg hû[h]din. Wiliche Knechti dir wêrin, Deist in heidnischin buochin mêri. Dâ lisit man Noricus ensis, Daz diudit ein suert Beierisch, Wanti si woldin wizzen Daz inge[m]ini baz nibizzin, Die man dikke durch den helm slûg; Demo liute was ie diz ellen gût. Dere geslehte dare quam wîlin êre Von Armenie der hêrin, Dâ Nôê ûz der arkin gîng, Dûr diz olizuî von der tûvin intfieng: Iri zeichin noch du archa havit Ûf den bergin Ararat. Man sagit daz dar in halvin noch sîn Die dir Diutischin sprecchin, Ingegin India vili verro. Peiere vûrin ie ziwîge gerno: Den sigin den Cêsar an un gewan Mit bluote mûster in geltan. and much better as I could tell.

The problem of the Bavarians is their uncertain origin. All other German tribes (Saxons, Thuringians, Swabians, Franconians ...)are mentioned early in the chronicles and historians know about their routes in the "time of migration of the peoples" (is that the correct expression?).
The Bavarians come up relatively late (not before mid - 6th century) and it is still unknown where they really originated from, although there are several theories. Maybe they have already been there since Roman times, but it is also possible - as malicious people say - that they are descendants of those left back just in that migration time because of orthopeadic problems ;-)

So stating, a descendance from the oldest people in the world could be an attempt to solve that problem. In the Middle Ages chronologists had no scruples!  End of Wikipedia Article.

Back in the United States, Gary Lind-Sinanian, curator of the Armenian Library and Museum of America, wrote the following in answer to the inquiry :

I suppose it is possible, but unlikely. Every early people tried to polish up their history by associating retroactively with other earlier prestigious peoples or dynasties. Basic human nature. In this case, simply immigrating from the East was too ambiguous, so the association became tied to a direct migration from Mt. Ararat/ Armenia. All fun and speculation, but no evidence to back-up the notion.

I once told someone that “the Armenians invented the doorknob” with a straight face (I was kidding). Two months later a California Armenian informed me that his local paper just published the little-known fact that Armenians invented the doorknob! These things can take on a life of their own.

Clotheslines or the Gym?

The sight of an old clothesline in the heart of suburban Sagamore Beach (see Marash Girl's photo) jarred Marash Girl.  Once (and not so long ago) we carried heavy baskets of wet clothes out to the fresh air to hang on our back yard clotheslines -- the sunshine (if it was sunny) and fresh air (if we didn't live too close to a highway) revived us and the exercise (lifting and carrying weight, bending, stretching) energized (or alternatively exhausted) us.

Today we throw our wet clothes into the electric (or gas) dryer (consuming untold amounts of energy) and drive to the gym for our exercise.  Who's kidding whom?  Are we really emancipated or have we given up a wonderfully natural form of exercise (and don't forget the part about chatting over the back yard fence) for the artifice of weights inside an airless, sunless gym full of stressed bodies anxious to go through the motions that are required in today's world of perfectly toned bodies?

Of course, there's always gardening in the summer and shoveling in the winter . . . 

Your words may live beyond you . . .

"We suffered; now it's your turn."  Those were the words handed to Marash Girl when, one day, desperate, she had turned to an aunt for help with her four children.  Luckily, Marash Girl never took that "turn", as for her, bringing up her children was a joy.  But those words did serve as a different kind of warning, for when Marash Girl wondered what she would write about today,  those very words rang out loud and clear in her memory, words spoken by a woman long since gone from this earth.  The warning?  Take care with what you say because you never know what words will live beyond you.

Yellow Ribbons: Watertown Strong, Boston Strong

Watertown Square, 1/2 mile from the capture of the Boston Marathon  terrorists.
Memorializing the cities' strength in the face of adversity, yellow ribbons decorate the trees along Mt. Auburn Street.
Photo by Marash Girl

The Old Clothesline

                Sagamore Beach:   The Old Clothesline, or, Still Hanging In There.   Photo by Marash Girl.

Don't go to bed angry . . .

In junior high school,  verbal parry was king, and among the favorites was the following:

"Don't go away mad; just go away!"

Yesterday, Marash Girl visited a home where a plaque hung on the wall with the following message:

"Don't go to bed angry; stay awake and fight!"

She's guessing that the originator of the plaque may have attended her junior high school!

Dorothy West's Desk

Hidden in the manuscript archives of the Schlesinger Library, Harvard University, is a prized possession:  the desk on which Dorothy West wrote her short stories, essays and novel.  The question is, how did Marash Girl get into the archives to photograph the desk . . . !!!

From Wikipedia:

Dorothy West was a novelist and short story writer during the time of the Harlem Renaissance. She is best known for her novel The Living Is Easy, as well as many other short stories and essays, about the life of an upper-class black family.  She was  born in Boston on June 2, 1907, and died in Boston on August 16, 1998.

More on Memory . . .

Overheard at Radcliffe Day in response to the guest speaker's presentation . . . 

"There was a moment of spark, but I don't remember what it was . . ."

Memory . . .

Overheard at Starbuck's . . .

"I can't remember!"

"But you're not that old!"

"My brain is older than I am!"

Lobster Rolls in Monson, Massachusetts?

Marash Girl, a lover of lobster, and especially lobster rolls,  returning from a (sad) visit to Wilbraham, consumed  (in totality) the king of lobster rolls.  On a toasted bun and covered with melted butter, the lobster roll, served hot, (can you believe it?) was full of succulent large, tender pieces of lobster.  Upon asking the owner why she served her lobster rolls hot, she answered,
"My husband comes from New Haven. The folks in New Haven always serve their lobster rolls hot!"



An unlikely place to stop if you didn't know better, CJ's  hot lobster roll is worth the trip out Route 20 to Monson/Palmer, Massachusetts:

371 Wilbraham St, Palmer, MA 01069 (413) 283-2196

 And for those of you who prefer burgers to lobster, CJ's offers your choice of 2 hamburgers, 2 cheeseburgers or 2 hot dogs with fries for $4.99!!!

You can eat outdoors or more sedately indoors in a rather nicely paneled dining area.

The only reason you might think twice about stopping at CJ's (if you didn't know better) is its location, right next to the  Magic Lantern, a strip joint that's been going strong on Route 20 (Boston Road), Monson, MA since at least the 1940's!

A new use for that old toothbrush!

You know, Joan told Marash Girl, you can get any stain out with a toothbrush -- no, not a stain on your tooth, unfortunately, but a stain on your clothes.  Just dip the toothbrush into  detergent and scrub a dub dub on the spot you wish to remove from your otherwise lovely (washable) garment; then throw that garment (white cotton pants, were they?) in with the rest of your wash.  Voila.  The garment will come out of the wash with no sign of the stain whatsoever.  And you don't even have to use a chemical stain remover!  

When Marash Boy heard tell of Joan's toothbrush trick, he was reminded of the day that little Lorig found a toothbrush beside the wrench and the pliers in his tool box.  She kept looking at that toothbrush, unable to understand what a toothbrush would be doing on the work bench down cellar in her father's toolbox.  

Well, what did you use the toothbrush for? asked Marash Girl. 

Marash Boy:  For brushing away the dust and grime from screws and bolts and hard to get at corners, of course!  What else would I use an old toothbrush for?

The Fox that Sang at Dusk

Amazing to learn about nature in your own backyard, nature that you have never seen on the top of a mountain or in the Wilbraham woods.

Marash Girl had always loved foxes . . . from the days that she used to read, and then sing to the children about the fox that went out on a chilly night,

to the time that she saw a red fox dancing in the sunlight on top of a Plum Island sand dune, to the time when a beautiful red fox wandered through her very own suburban side yard.  

You may recall that Marash Girl heard a bird calling just after the fall of night on Memorial Day, soon before the fisher cat appeared. . . She asked Marash Boy, "What bird would be singing after dark?"  She had asked that question earlier (see http://marashgirl.blogspot.com/2012/10/birds-that-whistle-in-night.html), but these bird calls, the ones she heard at dusk on Memorial Day, were calls and not whistles.

As Marash Girl researched the screams of the fisher cat, she noticed that there were recordings of a fox, and listening to those recordings, Marash Girl was somewhat in shock. . . Those yips recorded on the internet were the very "bird" calls she had heard at dusk on Memorial Day. . . so beware . . . your ears may deceive you!  When you hear birds calling in the dark, you may be hearing a red fox, and not a "night bird" at all!

More on the Fisher Cat . . .

Noticing signs in Newton Corner announcing that kittens were missing, signs accusing coyotes of the dastardly deed, Marash Girl was chagrined; the coyotes that she knew would have nothing to do with cats or kittens.  But then again, this was Newton Corner. . .

The advent of spring brought the need for planting perennials, and as Marash Girl lives in the Garden City, she simply visited a neighbor who was willing to share her overgrown garden, to be specific, her large masses of Iris, Iris of every color . . . Marash Girl had never seen such a variety of Iris (or do we say Irises?)  So off she went on Memorial Day to the far corners of Newton Corner, and there she met the Queen of Iris who was not only queenly in her manner but was queenly in her generosity as well.  As Marash Girl chatted with the Iris Queen, she learned that a fisher cat had been roaming among the Iris in that far flung corner of Newton, and  that her neighbor had actually taken a picture of it.  Imagine!  A fisher cat!  Marash Girl and Marash Boy had heard tell of such a cat, but certainly had never heard one screeching, much less appearing in broad dusk light. . . But then so much can be left to the imagination as the dusk settles and the wind ruffles the leaves of a garden full of mature perennials.  

Marash Girl was pleased with the Iris shared by the Iris Queen, and carried home several buckets full of Iris (roots and all), planning to plant them (or planting to plan them?) in the morrow.  She was so excited about the prospect that she decided to serve dinner on the front porch where she could gaze at her soon to be planted perennials, sleek leaved with buds, some of yellow, some of purple, some of mauve,  buds ready to burst into bloom.  

Chicken shish kebab and pilaf were on the docket for that night, with fresh veggies . . . and more!  As the sun set, and the gloom descended, Marash Girl heard a bird calling.  Strange, she said to Marash Boy.  What bird would start calling after dark?  But then, she had gone through that already (see her blog of bird calls in the night).  .  .

And soon after the bird stopped calling, a dark form came into view from along side the house opposite, crossing the little dead end street, heading for the circle . . . a dark form with a long flat tail somewhat like a beaver's and a head like a cat's . . . Quick -- put the light on!  We didn't want this never seen before animal on our porch!  What was it?  It silently glided along the southern side of our house and was soon out of sight, following the path of the fox, the coyote, and the wild turkey that Marash Girl had seen pass in the past.

Do you think that was a fisher cat? Marash Girl asked Marash Boy. . . Let me go inside and check on the internet . . . and this is what she saw . . .on the internet AND on her very street.  Not a very pleasant sight, and taken to screaming screams that once heard, would never be forgotten (although the fisher cat was silent on the evening of Memorial Day). 

A Fisher Cat in Newton Corner?

  -- I can't believe it but I just saw a fisher cat walk past our house!!! (I had never seen one before but google had a picture of it: and that's exactly what we saw -- 10 minutes ago, just after dusk.)   Maybe he was attracted by the iris that are about to be planted, or the water that I gave the iris before I went in for the evening!!!!  [Written Monday evening, May 27th, 2013]

Late to work at Walmart?

A retired military officer, somewhat bored after his exciting life in the military, decided to apply for a job working as a greeter at Walmart.  Needless to say, he was hired on the spot.  He was a great employee and enjoyed his work.  During his annual review, however, his supervisor said, "Listen, you are doing a great job -- you're very friendly and interactive with the customers and other employees, and we're really glad you're working here! 

The only thing is, you're always 5 or 10 minutes late to work.  I'm surprised by that because you used to work in the military and  I'm sure they didn't tolerate tardiness.  When you were in the military, what did they say when you showed up 5 or 10 minutes late?"

"They usually said, 'Good morning, General, can I get you some coffee?'"

The one you give away survives

This past week, with the Oklahoma tornado dominating the news, and the June 2011 Wilbraham tornado dominating Marash Girl's thoughts, Marash Girl received a gift in the mail, a gift which had been shipped before the tornadoes dominated the news, a gift which included the following note:

Handblown miniature glass pitcher with pontil mark, circa 1930

"I came across this miniature vase that you sent me years ago from your summer home in Wilbraham.  I wanted you to have it.  I am reminded of the story you told me once about the tiles you bought in Jerusalem . . . how they all broke, but the one that you gave away survived!  This is the little survivor of the house that blew away -- "

You're my favorite . . .

Grandpa Peter used to always say to his grandchildren, "You're my favorite!"  When his granddaughter Lorig asked, "What do you say to all the others?", he answered, "The same thing!"

And so, in true Grandpa Peter fashion, Marash Girl said to her soon-to-be daughter-in-law, "You're my very favorite daughter-in-law." Her soon-to-be daughter-in-law, a bit perplexed, replied, "But I'm your only daughter-in-law!"

MARASH GIRL just smiled and remembered her father, Peter, for whom everyone he loved was his absolute favorite.

The Red Sox, the Union Oyster House, and the freshest scrod in town!

Union Oyster House, Boston's oldest restaurant, proudly displays Boston (Red Sox) Memorabilia and proudly serves the freshest of fish, including scrod which they define as baby codfish.
(If you dine at Legal Seafood, they'll tell you that their  "scrod" is any white fish that might be in the kitchen that day!)

[For an interesting and sometimes hilarious discussion of the word "scrod", see Wikipedia's history of Boston's use (and sometimes intentional misuse) of  the term "scrod".   Can you guess what it is?]

Through the chain link fence . . .

One day, there was a house on the other side of this chain link fence, and the next day it was gone . . . left behind was a gigantic hole. . . . Yesterday the concrete mixer arrived and soon, the memory of the house that was there will be history . . . Another mega-mansion will eradicate any remembrance of the humble beginnings of our corner of Newton Corner.