Recognizing Divine Intervention (Audio)

ITP #17: In this episode, Anush catches us up on her trip to the midwest, the homeless outreach, and some new exciting news....and it's all got to do with some divine intervention!!
Links: Agra Hadeeg: http://ahnoosh.hubpages.com/hub/agra-hadeeg
DATEV Outreach 3rd Annual Walk Against Domestic Violence
Produced by Suzie Shatarevyan for epostle.net
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Subscribe to Inside the Pomegranate by Email
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Recognizing Divine Intervention

 I'm back!! We spent 5 days last week in Chicago where Fall was in full swing.  The weather was fresh and crisp, and it even got chilly at night (something we haven't experienced yet here in California.) We went back to visit family, but really to see our sweet grandbaby Grace.  I had a great time babysitting and playing with her, and we're so glad we had the chance to get out for a visit.   I wanted to be there for her first tooth so I  could prepare hadeeg for her.  For those of you who don't know about this tradition, it's a little celebration when the baby cuts their first tooth.  You put out various small items that would symbolize vocations, and you see which one your baby will pick...and that will (supposedly) determine what they'll be when they grow up.  It's a lot of fun. The problem is though that we were out in Chicago in May when Grace was 6 months, but she didn't have any teeth yet, so we decided to forego her hadeeg a bit.  Grace is now 10 months, so I thought, great! We'll tie in the hadeeg now.    So I brought the wheat with me to Chicago, but at 10 months, she still has no teeth! But it looks like they'll be popping in soon, SO, I decided to have the hadeeg ceremony anyways since we'd be back in California when it happens. We had different items symbolizing different jobs:  a pencil for writer, small toy animal for a vet, thermometer for the medical profession, little stubby screwdriver for construction, you get the idea.  We covered all the items with a cloth, brought the baby over and sat her in front of it...and uncovered the items.  Grace looked right at them and picked up this small solar charger that I have for my cell phone.  She grabbed it and hung on to it, even though we tried to introduce other things that she might be interested in.  No go.  Soooo, the forecast is that she will either go into something with electronics or be an environmentalist (she did pick up the Solar charger, right?)

This all reminded me of my daughter Ani's hadeeg celebration.  Ani was 14 months old before she got herhttp://ahnoosh.hubpages.com/hub/agra-hadeeg

first tooth, and then she got 6 at once!  Because our family was spread out, we had planned a vacation where we'd all meet at Lake Mead.  My brother's family coming in from the Cupertino area...and us from L.A.  We did Ani's hadeeg on the grassy lawn of a hotel in Barstow!  I had brought the hadeeg wheat and the items, and my two brothers had brought a racing form to put in front of Ani....(CHAR!!!)  Of course that's what she grabbed and they were convinced she'd be a gambler!  But I made them start over, and she picked up a pen.  And if you know Ani, you know she likes to write, draw and blog...so it worked on that one.  And I think she's been known to gamble a bit as well!  Anyways, it's a fun tradition.  I wrote a piece about it on HubPages, so if you'd like to learn more about hadeeg, check out the  following link:   Here's the link to an article I wrote about it if you'd like more info about this tradition.

I wanted to also catch you up on our homeless outreach at Ascencia, Glendale's homeless shelter because I wanted to share what happened that evening because it was just one of those divine intervention things that are too cool not to share. So two weeks ago, after church, I was approached by Deegeen Azniv.  She told me that she had brought a bag of clothing for the homeless outreach, but she had put it in the church office. She wanted to make sure I took it with me to the shelter and asked me to go put it in the car.  So I went to get the bag from the office.  When I got there, there were two bags.  A bag of clothing in a Macy's bag, and next to it, a plastic bag as well.  I grabbed them both and put them in the back of my car.  I came back to join the crowd during coffee hour, and thanked Deegeen. Azniv for the bags.  She told me she had only brought one bag...not two. But I had already loaded the clothes in my car so I just left the clothing there anyways.

On Thursday, I pulled up to the shelter, opened the hatch to unload the food and soon some of the resident men had come out to help me bring in the food for dinner.  A man with a shirt wrapped around his waist came up and rather than help, he asked me if I would have a pair of pants I could give to him.  He told me that he had ripped his pants and that's why he was wearing his shirt around his waist.  He said he was a 9 year veteran, and that the clothing on his back was all he owned.  Well, as usual, I don't know what I have donated in the bags.  People save their clothing for our outreach, and bring me their bags which I store in my garage til we're ready to go either to the shelter or to Skid Row.  I told the man that we could look and hopefully we'd find something.  So there we were going through the bags of clothing and they were all either women's clothing or tshirts.  No men's clothes.  I opened the back passenger door of my car and there was Deegeen Azniv's bag.  We looked through that bag as well...there was a towel which the man was grateful for...but no pants.  And finally, I brought forward the extra bag.  Remember, this is the bag that Deegeen Azniv didn't give.  In fact I wasn't even supposed to bring that bag with me.  But there, at the very bottom of the bag....was a pair of jeans.  When I pulled them out to hold them up for the man, we found that they were the exact perfect size.  Now THAT is some serious divine intervention!  And there's one more cool thing to the story.  The man that received the pants was not even a resident of the shelter. Edward, the resident manager told me that the man had just stopped by as he was passing through.  And I wasn't supposed to have the extra bag of clothing, but somehow, I picked it up...and he happened to be at the shelter that night, ready to receive a pair of pants that I had brought just for him.   I love it when that happens.

I have another story about divine intervention that I wanted to write about.  It revolves around another exciting thing that happened this past week.  My book is finally published!!!  This is a book that I illustrated for the Eastern Diocese of the Armenian Church called "When I Go to Church".  It was a labor of love.  The book is beautifully bound on heavy board for little fingers.  The idea for having this book is to keep them in the pews in all the Eastern Diocesan churches so that when families attend church with their children, their child can sit and look at this book showing them what we do during the Armenian Orthodox services.  Familiar scenes to our service.

Working on this book was a lot of hard work.  And there were many revisions.  The drawings had to be correct, and I never realized how everything in our church has a purpose and reason.  For example, I  had to do a whole new drawing because I had forgotten that the priest holds the gospel book with a cloth.  Or that the deacon holds the poorvar (censor) chain a certain way.  There were all kinds of details to pay attention to.  I would do the rough drafts, scan them send them via email to NY for  clergy's approval, and if all was right, then I could go ahead and work on the ink and color.  We finally got the drawings done...and were waiting for printing when Hurricane Sandy hit and that pushed the print date back.  But sometime last week, a package arrived from the Eastern Diocese of the Armenian Church.  I opened it and there it was!  My book.  It's finally in print.

As cool as it all is, it hardly sounds divine, right?  Well, there's a back story to how it all came to be.  And that's what I wanted to share with you.  It was all due to a prayer.  I went to school to be a children's book illustrator.  Unlike illustrators today, back in the day, we had to learn how to draw by hand...not by computer.  I have a degree in illustration and graphic design.  But what I needed a degree in marketing myself.  Self Promotion - which I have not been very successful with.  So although I could draw, I was not able to make a living with my art, and so I have done all kinds of jobs throughout my life.  And currently, I have a desk job managing property accounts for an insurance broker.  It's one of those kinds of things where on a daily basis I ask, "what am I doing here?" because although I have been at my job for 10 years now, it still doesn't seem "natural" to me.  So one afternoon, I was especially frustrated, and at my desk, I said a prayer.  I asked God to use me and my creative talents so that I would be able to do what I love (create) and bring Him glory.  That was it basically.

But we have to go back.  About 15 years ago, I went to a Sunday School conference to hear two speakers from the Eastern Diocese Department of Religous Education speak about curriculum.  Our church was using the Eastern Diocese Sunday School curriculum and I loved the illustrated books.  I had the idea to take my art portfolio and some samples to the conference to show these two women - Nancy and Elise. Their presentation at the conference was wonderful.  And afterward I went up and introduced myself and showed them my artwork.  They liked it, but sadly, they had just redone their curriculum and they didn't need any artwork done at that time.  I left them some samples of my artwork.

Fifteen years later, the idea of this book came about.  Elise was going through her files to find the right illustrator for this book, and she found my samples.  Mind you, this was about a month after my prayer to God.  So she pulled out the samples and she wanted to call me, BUT, since I gave her those samples, a lot had changed.  My name had changed after I remarried.  My address had changed.  My phone number had changed.  And she didn't have my email address (I don't think I even had an email address back then).  She couldn't find me.   But this is the amazing part.  Just by chance, in NewYork, there was a girl from California who was visiting the diocese.  The drawings were in Elise's office, when this girl happened to visit.  When Elise showed her my artwork and told her she wasn't able to find me, the girl stopped and looked at the samples.  She noticed my last name and said, "I think I may be friends with her son on Facebook?"  She contacted my son Nareg....and the rest, as they say is history!  Nareg gave her my email address, and Elise was able to contact me about illustrating the book!  Another cool Divine Intervention, right?  So never underestimate the power of prayer (and social media!).  God has us all in His hands.  We just have to trust and believe in those prayers!  How about you.  Have you had experiences with divine intervention?  I'd love to hear about them, so leave your comments on my blog!!

So I'm excited for this coming Sunday, October 27.  We're having a book signing with the debut of the book right after church.  A lovely member of our church family, Mrs. Nina Simonian, donated 100 of these books to our church to be used by the children of our parish during badarak.  So our church will have these books in our pews for children to use during church.  So come down to St. Peter on Sunday, October 27!

Oh one more thing.  This Thursday we'll be walking with Datev Outreach from Glendale to the Western Diocese in Burbank...about 6 miles in solidity against Domestic Violence.  Join us!!  More details at the https://www.facebook.com/datevoutreach  But meet up at St Peter Armenian Church at 632 W. Stocker Street in Glendale at 4:00 p.m on October 22.  Come on...it'll be fun!  And maybe you'll get the itch to do a bigger, longer walk - like the 2014 Avon Walk for Breast Cancer?  Maybe?  ; )

The Cancer Connection (Audio)

ITP Episode #7: Ever feel like you're in this exclusive club that no one wants to belong to? Welcome to the cancer club where Anush talks about physical and emotional connections made through this disease.
Links: www.pomegranateandeye.com
www.avonwalk.org/goto/inhershoes
www.thesketchbookproject.com
Produced by Suzie Shatarevyan for epostle.net
Look for Inside the Pomegranate on BluBrry
Subscribe to Inside the Pomegranate by Email
Get Inside the Pomegranate on iTunes

Play Now: 

The Cancer Connection

One of the projects at the Sketchbook Project
was to draw a postcard to leave behind and pick up
one from another artist.  Here's the one I left behind.

This morning, our Team In Her Shoes went to a crew training day.  Last year we had 18 walkers.  This year our team has 14 members.  Some of my walkers decided to work on the crew - which is another difficult job as they have to work behind the scenes supporting the over 2,000 walkers who will need water, meals, medical services, and all that.  The crew has to wake up at the crazy early hours of 3 and 4 a.m. to get things set up for the walkers, so I'm very grateful, and totally impressed with my team.   So we met up for breakfast and then went to the training session and my crew members got their assignments today.  It was a fun morning, as it always is with our team, and in just a little over a month's time, we'll be at the Avon Walk in Santa Barbara, the weekend of September 7 & 8.  If you're in the area and want to come cheer us on at the finish line please do!  I will post more information about the route and the closing ceremonies which will take place at Carpinteria State Beach at 2:30 p.m on September 8, so do check out our facebook page.  And I've also posted photos from this morning's crew training day as well.  Check out Team In Her Shoes.

So after this busy morning with the team, we met up with my son Nareg to go to an L.A. art event.  Last year sometime, my daughter Ani and I participated in the Brooklyn Art Library's Sketchbook Project:  a mobile tour of sketchbooks from around the world that would, after touring, find their way back to become part of the permanent collection of the Brooklyn Art Library.  All participants signed up with a fee and received a small 5"x7" sketchbook which they could rebind if they chose to, and fill with whatever sketches, paintings, doodles, writings, collages - whatever they wanted to.  You mail it in by a certain set date and the book gets digitized so it can be viewed on the computer, and then it goes on national tour.  And today the tour ended in Los Angeles.  And so we went to be part of the sketchbook project and see ours, and other artists' works on display.

When we  got there, we signed up for a library card.  The mobile library was like a lunch truck set up with a window that opened to serve us.  We typed in our interest, or artist's name in the computer, and the librarian would brought us the requested sketchbook we chose PLUS a random artist's sketchbook.  The mobile library had over 4.500 sketchbooks and over the course of the tour, I have received emails from all over the country whenever someone has viewed my book.  

It was an incredibly enjoyable afternoon.  Ani and I kept checking out sketchbooks, and surrounding ourselves with all the amazing creativity that's out there, while Neddy and Nareg were looking over our shoulders.  One of the books that I came across was kind of a mixture of emotions.  All about life and death, friendship and loss.  Lots of color, and paint, collage and label maker lettering.  And as I read this sketchbook/journal, I felt such a deep connection with the artist.  Her name was Pamela.  And she was from Corvalis, Oregon.  She had been diagnosed with cancer - a non-curable form of cancer that was taking her life away, little by little, every day.  She wrote about how much she always liked her hair, and how she was going to miss it as it was falling out due to the treatments she was receiving.  She wrote about living life to the fullest.  About how much she was going to miss her friends.  And as I came to the finish of the small book, she was saying her final words as her life, and the book were coming to a close.  I stood there and all I could do was exhale a "Wow."  It left me numb.  I was holding in my hands a part of this woman's life.  The emotions were all there.  It left me wondering if she was still alive (though inside I could feel she wasn't).  

After returning the journal, I knew that my next sketchbook topic would be about my experience with this disease.  There are a lot of subjects that I could share about, but this one runs deep.  In fact, I had been asking Ani what I could blog about this week and she's the one that had the idea.  Why not blog about your cancer connections. And so here we are today.  

I sometimes liken having cancer, or having gone through cancer, as a membership in this exclusive club that no one wants to belong to.  Yet when you do belong, you are in it for life.  I am fortunate to call myself a three time cancer survivor.  As positive as I am, and as blessed as I feel, I still have to go to my appointments.  We're still looking for answers, and I still breathe a sign of relief when the doctor tells me things are fine and he'll see me next time.

When you have had cancer, other people seek you out.  People that are going through it.  Or family members who have relatives that are going through it.  You share your story with them, much like I'm doing with you.  Because you know what it's like to feel what they're feeling.  You know what it's like to get the diagnosis of the "Big C" and you know the terror associated with the idea that your health is not in your own hands.  You want to give comfort to others, and you want to give hope.  If you're a survivor, like I am, I feel there is an added responsibility to share your journey with others.  To encourage.  To share your faith and love with them.

When I got diagnosed at age 34 with breast cancer, it was difficult for me to find support.  Oh, they always tell you to seek support groups and such, but because most incidents of breast cancer are involving women that are a bit older, when you're younger, the support groups for your age aren't there.  At least they weren't back then.  I remember my doctor refering me to a support group at the hospital.  I took my mother with me and when I got there, it was my mom that was greeted by the members.  So I sought support through a cancer support group online.  And that's when I met my friend Carolyn.  She is a breast cancer survivor and a Hodgkins Lymphoma survivor, and we became friends.  It was Carolyn that first got me into walking for the cause.  We decided to sign up with Team In Training to walk the Alaska marathon, and we each trained separately - she in Kentucky and me here in L.A.  Sadly, a family loss kept her from participating in the walk.  And so I flew to Alaska myself and walked the Midnight Sun marathon there.  And then a couple years later, Carolyn and I crossed the Golden Gate Bridge together when we participated in the San Francisco marathon. Two friends who would never have known one another if it weren't for  cancer.  To this day, Carolyn and I keep in touch through Facebook. After years at one career, she went to school to become an oncology nurse, where she makes cancer connections of hope and love possible for her patients.

A year or two later,  on Christmas eve, about 16 years ago, I received an email.  It was from a woman named Diane from Minnesota.  She had read my cancer story on the internet.  As a young mother, she wrote me a letter, out of the blue.  "I just got diagnosed with breast cancer.  I'm terrified.  You and I are the same age.  I have two children just like you do.  Please tell me I'm going to survive this.  Please tell me I'm going to see my children grow up."  Diane and I became friends/penpals.  I was three years past my first round of cancer.  We would write to one another.  I would offer encouragement.  We shared a passion for drawing and gardening.  And we wrote about our mothers whom we both had close relationships with.
Diane went through surgery and treatment and she made it through.  We started corresponding through regular post, sending photos of ourselves with our children.  Christmas cards.  And then for a while I didn't hear from Diane.  Several months had gone by and then I received news that her cancer had returned.   I was numb.  But she was doing so well.  Three years had gone by since her first diagnosis.  Again we started writing, but this time she was seeing another doctor.  She wanted to go the holistic route and was traveling far to get to her treatments.  But she assured me she was doing well.  Life was busy for the both of us - but when out of the blue her husband called me one day, I knew something was up.  "I just wanted to call you, " he said.  "Diane passed away."  And he started crying.   He shared that the cancer was aggressive.  She didn't want to go through chemo.  She opted to live as much  of her life as she could with her family knowing her as they knew her.  She didn't want to be poisoned by the chemo and have her children see her that way.  And so the cancer claimed her life.  Diane was my first friend lost to cancer. For years I kept in touch with her mother, who would write me about how much she missed her daughter.  We shared that connection.  Her mom would write me about Diane's children and how they were growing, tell me about the flowers that always reminded me of her dear daughter.  Eventually, the her letters became less frequent, and then became annual Christmas cards.

There have been many others that I've shared the connection with.  My husband's boss who wrote me one day to ask for advice and prayers.  Calls from friends of friends that just want to connect...to talk to someone that knows what they're going through.   Men and women.  A friend recently reached out to me.   As her husband was getting ready to undergo chemo, she found herself filled with mixed emotions.  Fear, anger, frustration, and guilt. Things were supposed to be getting better, she said.  Life has been tough, and now this.   Sometimes you can help by consoling and offering whatever worked for you.  Other times, all you can do is listen and reassure that the feels are real and justified.  And offer prayer.

I don't know why some people get cancer and others don't.  Stress?  Diet?  Genetics?  Who knows.  What I know that I DON'T  believe is that God gives cancer to people.  But I do believe that faith can take cancer away.  I also believe that there are no coincidences in life...and that all things happen for a reason.  Sometimes the reason is very clear.  And other times, we don't understand the reason until years later.  When I got diagnosed with a second type of cancer, I urged my siblings to get checked.  It was only because of that, that my brother's cancer was diagnosed early enough to save him.  Had I not undergone cancer when I did that year, his cancer would have gone undetected.  Like I said, I don't believe in coincidence.  We are right where we are supposed to be.  We have always been close....but now we share the cancer connection as well.

Two years ago, I recieved a call from my cousin.  My childhood friend had just gotten diagnosed with breast cancer.  Through the years, she and I had lost touch basically seeing each other a couple times a year. But we now had cancer in common.  Ani and I were getting ready to walk in the Avon walk and that year, we added her name to our list of names we were carrying with us on our trek.  Because of cancer, we rekindled our friendship.  I'd like to think I helped her get through her battle in 2010 (at least a little), and come 2011, she helped me get through mine. Last year, she and I held hands together as we crossed the finish line after walking 39.3 miles in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. And this year, we'll be walking together again!  Friends together.  Survivors together.  Sharing more than just cancer.  Sharing happy, healthy times together walking for a cure!

As this year's walk is quickly approaching, I'm getting myself ready to once again go the distance for a cure.   This year there are 14 on our team, but only six of us walking.  Three of the six of us walkers are cancer survivors.  Two of us women; one a man.  Each of us sharing that strong connection as we walk with the hope that one day we'll be able to look back on cancer --  and all that we've experienced because of it -- as a thing of the past.  Til then, we'll keep walking, we'll keep dreaming, praying, hoping, and sharing the connection with those around us.

If cancer has touched your life, or the life of a friend or family member, please send me their name and I will carry them with me, every step of our 39.3 mile trek.  You can email them to me at anush@pomegranateandeye.com  or facebook message me.  And if you'd like to support our team, you can click on our Team In Her Shoes website address at www.avonwalk.org/goto/inhershoes

Wanting More

This past weekend, I took a trip to Las Vegas with some of my friends.  The little two day trip was fun, and it gave me a lot to think about and I thought I'd write about it over the course of the next couple of weeks.  This week I'm writing about about that need to want “more”.   I’m not a big Vegas person, but there are a few things that I enjoy there:  people watching (Vegas is the place to do it!), relaxing, and playing penny slots.  Slot machines have come a long way since the put-the-coin-in-pull-the-lever-hope-for-lucky-sevens type.  Now they are more like video games.  And a penny is hardly what you play on a penny slot.  You bet a penny a line with some machines having up to 100 lines.   And then you can multiply your bet 2x, 3x, whatever.  But I do like them because you can play for quite a while, winning and losing, and if I’m lucky, I’ll come out a few dollars ahead (which doesn’t happen very often).  In fact, most of the time, I lose what I started with, always thinking that if I put in just one more play, surely, I'd hit the jackpot...or get the free spins.  And this Saturday night, when I was digging through my purse for just one more dollar to feed into the machine, my behavior made me stop (after yet another losing pull) and think about human behavior and how we are wired.  Or if it's really wiring at all, or is it learned behavior?  What I'm talking about is this need to want more.  

Vegas makes its millions by this very thing, right?  The need to keep gambling.  The hope that “just one more bet” is going to be the winner.  I’m wondering if this is part of our hardwiring – a type of survival mechanism from our early days.  The need for self-preservation maybe?  The thinking that if  I won a little bit, that’s great.  But if I can win a little more, that’s even better.  It’s like that little girl on the AT&T commercial, “We want more! We want more!”

Is it greed?  I'm not too sure about that.  I think it's more about gratification. But the truth is that I'm still thinking about it.  I thought I'd have the answer, but I don't. 

Our monthly In His Shoes Skid Row outreach was this past Monday evening - the day after I returned from my trip.  What a huge contrast between the glamour and glitz of Las Vegas, and the poverty and homelessness on the streets of Skid Row.  What I was wondering is this:  Are we hardwired to want more for ourselves?  Or is this need something that is learned in our fast-paced, material world?   As I sat at the slots, putting in that last dollar, I thought about this: What if this same need to want more for ourselves didn't just stop with ourselves?  What if we had a need to want  more for others?  On our homeless outreach, we had prepared to feed about 170 people.  Sadly there were so many people living on the streets that we ran out of everything -- sandwiches, snackes, everything.  What if we couldn’t stop at helping just 170 people a month but we felt the need to help “just one more” person.  And now thinking about this on a more global level, I'm reminded of those tribes in Africa and elsehwere  where people truly live as a community, all helping one another and working toward the common survival of themselves and their community. When one person eats, everyone eats.  When one person struggles, they all struggle.  I think it's more of a nature vs. nurture issue.  

When I think about our homeless outreach group, I KNOW our main reason for doing this outreach is because we have been commanded by God to do so…to feed the hungry and clothe the naked.  But I also know that there is a lot of gratification in it for each of us when we spread Christ’s light and love to others. And I do think that for us that that gratification is enough to keep us coming back for more.     And so now the question is: Has God created each of us as compassionate, giving human beings...and then do we learn to want more for ourselves for survival in society?   I think this is more likely.   At least I would like to think so. 


Finally, I'll leave you with a little food for thought. Just this morning, I read Pope Francis' address and it tied in to this beautiful idea of community and compassion.  He said, 

"The Lord has redeemed all of us, all of us, with the Blood of Christ: all of us, not just Catholics. Everyone! ‘Father, the atheists?’ Even the atheists. Everyone! And this Blood makes us children of God of the first class! We are created children in the likeness of God and the Blood of Christ has redeemed us all! And we all have a duty to do good. And this commandment for everyone to do good, I think, is a beautiful path towards peace. If we, each doing our own part, if we do good to others, if we meet there, doing good, and we go slowly, gently, little by little, we will make this a culture of encounter: we need that so much. We must meet one another doing good. ‘But I don’t believe, Father, I am an atheist!’ But do good: we will meet one another there.”

“Doing good” the Pope explained, is not a matter of faith: “It is a duty, it is an identity card that our Father has given to all of us, because He has made us in His image and likeness. And He does good, always.”

Like I said, I don't have all the answers on this one, but it's "ripe with possibilities!"  What do you think?  I would love to hear your thoughts.  Please comment on my blog below and let me know what  you think.

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You can hear the audio version of this post read on this week's episode of "The Next Step with Father Vazken" on epostle.net

Why I Walk

Right around mile 36, coming into the home stretch!

This year marks my 10th year participating in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer - a challenging 39-mile, two-day walk that raises hope, awareness and funding for breast cancer.  It seems that every year I say I'm taking a break this year, and then somehow, I find myself signed up and training to walk.  This Saturday, May 11 is this year's Kick Off event for the walk, and I have been asked to speak to the group and share my story and Why I Walk.  I thought I would share it with you.  So here goes.

Would it make sense to you if you heard me say that my cancer diagnosis was a positive event in my life?  How can something so devastatingly scary be positive?  I think of it as positive because no other event (other than becoming a mom) has made me understand who I am, what I believe, and what it means to be a survivor.

When I was diagnosed at age 34,  cancer meant fear.  Fear of the future, fear of the unknown, fear for my children.  Growing up, in the 70's, you didn't hear of too many people who survived "cancer."  So when I was diagnosed, naturally I thought of the worst.  But thankfully, we caught it early.  I underwent surgery and daily radiation.  And I made it! I celebrated life and every year that went by. They told me that if I made it to my 5th year without recurrence, then I could consider myself "cured." And that 5th year was my goal.  That was back in 1998.  I heard about the first Avon Walk...it was a 3-day walk back then. 60 miles from Santa Barbara to Malibu.  And it coincided with my 5 year cancer anniversary.  I remember that first walk.  Everything seemed so special.  I walked on my own, but all along the way I met so many amazing people...some were survivors just like me.  We were all walking together, all of us with different stories, yet all of us touched by cancer.  I remember that last day, walking single file along PCH into Malibu.  One foot in front of the other.  Calling up every last bit of strength from inside me.  Thinking about my grandmothers (who were both genocide survivors and powerful women of faith)...and thinking, I am their granddaughter.  I can do this.  I am a survivor!  Just believe! And I thought of my fear of cancer, and I came to the realization that I had overcome that fear.  When I saw my children at the finish line cheering me on, with their smiles and flowers, something inside me changed.  I felt powerful!  I had survived!

Life went on the years went by.  I kept up with my check ups and my mammograms.  My children grew up.  And I kept walking.  When my daughter got old enough, she signed up to walk with me. And then 2011 came and hit me with a double whammy.  You know that colonoscopy you keep putting off?  Well, don't do that!   In February of 2011, I went for my first ever colonoscopy.  Routine.  No symptoms.  Nothing.  And then wham, I was diagnosed with colon cancer after the mass they found tested positive.  Thankfully, it too was caught early.  I underwent surgery.  And during my six week recovery, I went for my annual mammogram.  I remember the day after I returned to work I got a call.  They saw "something" in my mammogram and wanted me to come in for a biopsy.  I went in the very next day, and by the following day I received the call.  I had breast cancer again.  18 years later.   Because I had radiation the first time around that was no longer an option. I had to undergo a mastectomy and opted for reconstructive surgery at the same time.  So there was a lot of coordinating and scheduling going on...and at the same time, my daughter was getting ready to graduate nursing school. This time the feeling wasn't fear, but determination.  I was going to get through this...and I was determined to make it to graduation.   I think each and every one of my medical team and hospital staff knew about my daughter's graduation. I heard more than one scheduler or nurse say, "This mama's got to make it to her baby's graduation....we need to get her there!"   That became my goal.  To make it to her graduation.  And it happened.  I had my surgery and despite the bandages, the incisions and the drains,  and was well enough to make it to graduation and hear my baby girl deliver her commencement address!

That September, just 3 months after my surgery...my daughter and I walked in the Avon Walk Santa Barbara.  We held hands as we approached the finish line.  Our family was there (as they always have been) and then looking beyond, I saw so many of my friends!  15 of my friends had rented a van and surprised us.  They had come all the way from Glendale to Santa Barbara to support us as we crossed the finish line.  It was amazing. Not only that, but they had cooredinated this huge potluck ...and they all stayed for the closing ceremony.  By the end of the closing ceremony, my brother, sisters and 7 of my friend had signed up to walk in 2012 as Team In Her Shoes so inspired by the amazing stories they heard.  Our team grew to 18 walkers last year.  And between 18 of us, we raised $35,000!

When I think about why I walk, the reason is because I can't not walk.  I walk to thank those who walked before me.  I am alive because of breast cancer research.  I walk to raise funds so the research can continue, so that someday we won't have cancer.  I walk to remember those who are survivors of this disease, for those who are fighting cancer now, and in memory of those who have lost the battle  And I carry their names with me on my 39.3 mile journey.  And I also walk to offer hope and support to others just like those that walked with me those first years of my Avon walk experience.

Finally, I know I have changed a lot from 20 years ago and my first diagnosis.  Cancer doesn't mean fear to me anymore.  Cancer has become so much more -- but in a good way.  Cancer means hope for recovery.  Cancer means love and support from friends and family.  Cancer means beauty in seeing the most ordinary of life happening around you and appreciating it for what it is - beautiful and miraculous.  Cancer means faith, prayer, and believing in your wellness and knowing  that those prayers are being answered.  And cancer means action - being proactive and aggressive when it comes to our wellness.  We have the power to make amazing changes that are happening in our lifetime.  It all starts with the first step.  I am so  looking forward to taking that next step with all of you this September!

If you would like to donate to the Avon Walk and have us walk in memory or honor of your loved one, you can follow the link to donate.  Each walker has to raise a total of $1800.  I have met my goal, but I ask that you donate to Father Vazken's goal.  You can access his donation page at:  http://info.avonfoundation.org/site/TR/Walk/LosAngeles?px=2509651&pg=personal&fr_id=2240

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You can hear this post read on this week's podcast (May 9, 2013)  of The Next Step with Fr. Vazken on epostle.net

Thoughts On Fasting

Empty lunchbag:  Fasting on Tuesday

It's a typical Tuesday.  I got up, got ready for work, watered the garden, fed the kitties, went into the kitchen, rinsed my sprouts, and and then I grabbed my lunchbag and started packing food for the day: something for breakfast at my desk, something for lunch, some carrots for a snack....and then I remembered....Oh yeah, it's Tuesday.  I'm fasting today.

I am fasting today, and every Tuesday until July 14 in solidarity and remembrance of our brothers and sisters in Darfur.  It's been ten years since the violence has escalated there.  It's hard to believe for me that so much time has gone by, but it must feel like an eternity for those in the IDP camps.  As a granddaughter of genocide survivors, I heard similar stories of horror and displacement from my grandmothers.  While there is nothing I can do about our 98-year-old Armenian genocide, I can work toward stopping one that's going on today in Darfur.  And so I have joined this 100 day, tag-team fast.

Fasting makes me realize how much I take food for granted. We have food in the fridge.  Even when I open it and don't see anything I want, there's still food there. I am spoiled.  There's food in the cupboard too.  When I get to work, there's food there, in the kitchen. Not only food, but water, and 4 kinds of coffee, and hot cocoa and tea too.   There is food in our work area.  We are able to eat when we're hungry.  And we're able to eat when we're not hungry.  Fasting helps me understand that life is not fair.  Not everyone has what I have.  And as a practicing Christian, it is commanded of me to do something about it.  Not to look down and say, "I'm fortunate that I'm not like them," but to ask, "Why don't they have it?  And how can I share what I have with them?  How can I feel their pain?  How can I help?"

In the movie, "It's a Wonderful Life", it's said that an angel gets its wings every time you hear a bell ring.  Well, I have a different version of that.  When I'm fasting, every time my stomach growls, it's a reminder that tens of thousands of people are without food.  They don't have the choice that I do...to end the fast.  The growling is their reality.  Fasting is a very powerful tool.

Fasting helps me to move myself into a more spiritual realm of faith and power by putting aside my physical desire for food. We put our faith first above our physical needs.  And with fasting comes prayer.  A prayer for healing and focus.  That God heal our hearts to understand the needs of others before ourselves.  That we have the strength to push for justice; keep our focus strong and our hearts compassionate to their needs, and also for a realization that we all belong to one another.  I also pray for the courage to tell the story, get the word out, and remain vigilant in the cause.  Join me and many others.  Let's be the change we want to see in the world.

If you would like to join the fast, please click on this link for more information, to sign up, or to donate:
100 Day Fast for Darfur

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To hear an audio version of this post, please tune into the April 11 episode of "The Next Step with Father Vazken" at www.epostle.net

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Patience, Perseverance and Faith

This past weekend was our annual MLK Retreat.  We came together - all of us with different reasons - for friendship, for community, for a getaway, for an excuse to get out of work - but all of us came together knowing that we would be spending the next three days together learning about the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and his teachings.

There is so much that went on.  So much that I'd like to share, but it's so wrapped in emotion.  I did a lot of soul searching this weekend.  I was able to define my own personal "ah-ha" moments as we shared stories and tried to relate our lives to Dr. King's teaching based on Christ's principles of love and non-violent resistance.

I think what I personally focused on was our ability to effect change when we lead a Christ-centered/love-centered life.  I thought about the Montgomery bus boycott and how effective it was in bringing about the civil rights movement.  I have known the facts for years, but what never occurred to me was that this change, this boycott, lasted over a year before a result was achieved.  Unlike the union strikes of today, an agreement was not reached in a week's or a month's time.  Over a year.  Why was this important to me?  Because it involved patience (not my strong suit), and it involved persistence, and faith.  It was a huge sacrifice for the protesters to be without transportation.  Given that most did not own their own cars, giving up riding a bus and having to arrange your own ride was not easy.  Yet they persevered, because sitting back was no longer an option.  And they achieved their goal of equality while riding on the bus.  And then the greater goal of equal rights was inevitable. 

I have a lot of goals in my life as well.  And all too often, they seem unattainable.  I've been trying to make a go of my jewelry business, but it's difficult with a full time day job...and then family obligations.  BUT it's not unattainable.  It's going to take time, persistence, patience and faith.  So I took this lesson away with me from the weekend.  Keep dreaming!  Keep praying!  Keep believing!

We were also asked to choose one of Dr. King's quotes and share why it spoke to us.  If you read my blog a few weeks back ("The Jumper"), I wrote about a person who was contemplating suicide by jumping off a freeway bridge.  Our building overlooked the scene and I was taken aback when some of my coworkers were going and coming out of the corner office laughing, making fun and just waiting for the poor man to jump.  As disgusted and saddened as I was by their actions, I was more disgusted by my inaction.  So you can see why this quote struck a chord with me:  "He who passively accepts evil is as much involved in it as he who helps to perpetrate it.  He who accepts evil without protesting against it is really cooperating with it."  I still don't know why I remained silent that afternoon, but the following day I did speak out about my disappointment.  This quote helped me to focus on the fact that I do need to stand up, even when I'm standing alone.

Finally, on Monday morning, before leaving to come home, we were able to watch President Obama's inauguration ceremony.  I don't remember ever being so moved during this ceremony as I was this time around.  I think it was because of the emotions of the weekend.  And the president's inauguration was the perfect ending to it.  We sat in front of the laptop watching.  Tears streaming down some of our faces.  I thought of how young our country was and how much there was to learn.  But I was hopeful because of how far we had come since Dr. King's time.  But there was still so far to go.  There was still racial tension and hatred.  We prayed along with the prayers that were recited, and I was renewed with hope when they prayed in Christ's name.  Obama's speech was moving, hopeful and inspirational.  It was filled with love and hopefulness, and embracing diversity.  And the poem that was read by Bronco was the tip of the iceberg for me.  It was filled with imagery of our country.  Of all walks of life, or our day, of unity.  I posted it here on my blog if you missed it.

So we packed it up, and headed down the hill, forever changed.  I'm hopeful for America.  And I am hopeful for peace and for change.  But if we want change, we need to work toward it.  And not lose faith in our dreams. It's going to take patience, inconvenience, perseverance, and faith.  It's going to take action, and prayer, and a God-centered life.   But it is achievable if we truly want it.

Click HERE to  hear this blog entry  read by the author in an audio file on Next Step #242

Want to learn more about Dr. King?  See these links below.

Pray for Peace. Believe in Peace. Live Peace

Have you every been in conversation with God when you receive a message so clear that it sort of makes you stop and say, "Is that you, God?"  I had one of those moments today during my morning prayer.  Except for one thing.  There was no doubt.  I didn't have to ask, I just knew.

I always pray for peace.  That our world leaders will wake up and work toward peace.  That we choose the right leaders for our country.  An end to fighting.  That our soldiers - all soldiers - return home safely.  For Darfur.  For my sponsored children in Chad and Malawi, for Iran, Afghanistan, you name it.   But this morning was a little different.  The concept of "if you want peace, you need to work at it.  "Pray for Peace.  Work for Peace.  Live Peace" was very prominent.

I can't explain to you how it was conveyed to me. And I finished my prayer knowing that I was going to - I was commanded to -  share this with whomever would read/listen.  And let me just say, it's nothing like the heaven opening up, actually the concept is so simple you'll probably not think it's that profound, but receiving it, it really was!  So here it is.

I was thanking God for hearing my prayers.  So many people that I have been praying for are doing so much better and I'm so thankful. I was thinking about why those prayers were answered yet we are so far from peace.  Maybe it's collective prayer:  in these instances, many are praying for the afflicted.  And because we are praying, we are living the prayer, daily, we're aware of that person's issues. We call them, we care about them, when we see them we are genuinely happy and go up to embrace them sharing our concern. And then when healing takes place, it's evident, sometimes tangible. 

With peace it's different because it's a concept.  But like anything we pray for, we have to believe, and live it.  We have to vote for candidates that will govern with Love, not hatred.  Might can't be right.  Love can be.  We have to live in peace with one another - not letting the little things bother us, forgiving people that hurt us.  Moving on from the petty.  Caring for each other.  Doing what is

What about vegetarianism?  It opens that door for me to think about.  If I'm going to live in peace, is the killing of animals keeping me from living in peace?  I haven't decided that one yet, but inside, I know that it's true, right?  It's my own pleasure that I'm seeking when I say, "yeah, but...."

This was the clear message.  We have to pray it, believe it -- correction -- "I" have to pray it, believe it and live it.  I have to keep it in the forefront of my consciousness.  If I want it as bad as I say I do, then I have to work for it (just like weight loss, walking 39 miles, like anything!)  It has to be a top concern because without peace, there is no future. 

That's the message I got today.  Pray for peace.  Believe in Peace.  Live Peace. Today I will take steps toward peace.  I want to think about this more in the coming days, weeks, months ahead.  I would love to see a world of peace and love replace the hatred and violence.  I think working together, we can achieve it!  What are your thoughts?  I would love to hear from you. 

Surgery Part Two: Reconstruction

It's a little past midnight.  The wind is howling in Sunland this early morning rattling my doors.  I've been napping on pain meds since I got home from outpatient surgery this evening and now I'm awake til the next dose kicks in.  My day started at yesterday midnight when the doctor's orders were "nothing to eat or drink after midnight."  Eating is not a problem; but no water or the morning coffee is a bit tougher.  Still, I did okay, and made it to the Surgi-Center at New Age Aesthetic's - my surgeon's practice in Encino.

I met with the anesthesiologist who attempted to start my IV line.  Attempted.  I have only one good arm for this type of thing, and that one they can't use because of all the surgeries, lymph node dissection, and because the veins have been scarred beyond use from all the surgeries.  Not wise to use it anyways, unless it's an absolute necessity.  So SEVEN tries on the left arm.  I have never had such an experience.  I usually get the comments that my veins are very small...and they attempt my crook of the arm...and usually advance to the back of my hand.  But this doctor tried 7 times.  Two in the crook of the arm, three in the back of the hand, 2 in my underside of my forearm...and then gave me the option:  Either we try in the neck (EWWWW!) or we try the right arm.  All this time I'm praying for him to find a vein.  I asked him to please call the surgeon in the other room, and ask him what he suggested.  We opted for the back of the hand on my right, and thank God he finally found it.  Needless to say my left arm is nicely bruised.

Then I had to be photographed...the "before" pictures.  Humiliating.  But because it's reconstruction from a medical point of view, it's required by the insurance.  Okay.  Then meet with the surgeon for markings.  It's totally like the beginning of the TV series, Nip/Tuck when you see the doctor marking up the patient with dashed lines on the skin.  He explained to me what he was going to do.  I had a lot of hard scar tissue under my arm area where the incision was made 18 years ago for the lymph node dissection, and then more scarring on top of that from the mastectomy.  He wanted to remove that a bit.  Then some contouring to remove the necrosis (more hard areas), and then creating a nipple.

Then into the operating room where I was put in the usual "crucifixion position".  Arms out to my sides and restrained.  As always, in my head at this point...and at points throughout this whole cancer, I start reciting the 23rd Psalm in my head.  This beautiful Psalm helped me get through my daily radiation treatments and brings me a lot of comfort when I need it most.  I love the verse, "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."  It's beautiful.

Anyways, I woke up in recovery.  My hands are still swollen from the IV fluids.  And I DID have to have a drain, despite my positive thoughts not to get one.  Hopefully it will come out on Tuesday.  I have a lot more pain than I thought I would have.  Especially in the exit point of the drain.  Every time I get up from sitting, or lying down, it's a sharp pain.  I have to empty the drain 4 x a day and log the drainage.

I am hopeful that this will be the last surgery for the year.  For now, I'm just going to think positive, work on healing, and taking care of myself: mind, soul and body.

If you are dealing with breast cancer, reconstruction, etc, and need to ask questions, talk about it, etc.  I'm here to help:  write me at ahnoosh@ca.rr.com

Be Mindful of What You Pray For

If you're on Facebook, you know that for the past several weeks, I've been diligently working on completing a series of illustrations for a children's book -- a commission from the Eastern Diocese of the Armenian Church in New York. 



I am welcomed by my church family



I've always wanted to be an illustrator for children's books.  My degree is in illustration.  Unfortunately, as much as I wanted to be an illustrator, my ability to "self-promote" and market myself  was terrible.  And so the years went by and I, like all to many, have ended up doing all sorts of jobs to pay the bills.  My current job has me working in the field of excess and surplus lines insurance.  Prior to that, I was a teacher; a medical transcriber, a court reporter's transcriber, an interpreter, a bookkeeper, a retail store manager.....and then always on the side I've done my art, jewelry and crafts.

This is the frustrating thing.  Art is my passion.  Helping people is my passion.  But there are bills to be paid as well as a mortgage.  As grateful as I am for my job, I always feel like I don't belong.  My work environment is very nice, and I work for and with very nice people.  But it's not me.  So one day last year, during a particularly stressful lunch hour, I stopped for a moment, closed my eyes and said a prayer that went something like this:



I light a candle



"God, I'm thankful for the ability to work...and for my job.  But I'm feeling so down.  You know that I love to be creative.  Please help me to find a way...a creative outlet ...where I can do my art and bring Glory to You through it."

That was pretty much it.  I went back work, and few weeks went by.  And then one day I received an email.  It was from the head of the Department of Religous Education at the Eastern Diocese.  They were wondering if I was the same person they had met 15 or so years earlier who did illustrations.  I flashed back years prior when I had gone to a Sunday School conference.  At the time I was teaching Sunday School, and our guest speakers were going to be two women from the Eastern Diocese who were going to talk about the new curriculum that our diocese was also using.  I remember taking my portfolio with me back then in the hopes that they might have work for me.  I met with Elise and Nancy, and showed them my illustrations.  They loved them, but "Unfortunately, we just redid all our books."  But they kept my samples.



I kneel



Flash forward and there I was reading the email.  Elise said she had tried to find me, but didn't know how.  (I had remarried with a name change, changed my address, phone, etc.)  But just by chance, there was a Californian who was working in her office, and she recognized my past-married name on the sample and said, "I think I'm friends with her son on Facebook."  She emailed my son and got my email address...and the rest is history.  The illustration job is for a toddler's book -- one that will be kept in the pews of the various churches for children to read during church.  They show panels of a child's view of Armenian Orthodox church. 

Could my prayer have been answered in any better way?



I pray



I started the illustrations last year.  And then, over the course of the year with all my health issues (gallbloadder surgery, colon cancer, breast cancer..etc.) I had to take a break.  Just a month ago, we revisited the project and decided that the "end of October" would be a good deadline for Christmas publication.  And so the clock is ticking.  It's actually good timing as I'll be having the second part of my reconstruction surgery on November 1. 

I often think of this course of events....my prayer, the way I was found, the fact that my illustration samples were even kept all those years.  I don't believe in coincidence.  I believe in prayer.  I believe in sincere requests.  And I believe that all things will happen not in our time but in God's.

Here is a look at my illustrations so far.  There are 12 year...I have 3 to go:



I sing









I smell the incense

I recieve the Kiss of Peace

I receive a blessing

I give my gift

I receive Holy Communion

I kiss the Gospel

I make the sign of the cross



Who I Am

I just heard a promo for a new podcast with Linda Zadoian called Compass, part of epostle.net's programming.  And in this promo, Linda describes some of the different facets of her identity.  This morning, while I was walking, I was thinking about who "I" am.   What is important to me as far as my identity is concerned, and what is not.  Here's a list.

I'm a Christian.  A woman, a mother, a sister, a daughter, an aunt, a cousin, a niece, a granddaughter (though my grandparents aren't around anymore. ) I am a step-mom.
I am a wife, a friend, a confidente.

I am a breast cancer survivor.  I am a colon cancer survivor.  I am just a survivor....of life and all it's bumps and messes.

I am a shoulder to cry on.  I am a hugger.  I am a lover of mostly everyone.  I am someone that sees good in others. 

I am an artist.  I am a jewelry maker.  I am creative and crafty.  I am an illustrator, and a painter.  A sketcher. A musician.

I am a reader.  And a thinker - though sometimes too much.  I am an observer -- noticing the little details in my surroundings and in people.

I am a gardener - though not always a successful one.  Still, I am a gardener and a planter of seeds with a hope for sprouts and for a harvest. 

I am a cry-er at movies, and sappy commercials.  And at things that break my heart...like hungry and abused children and homeless people, and genocide and war.  I am  caring and compassionate.

I am a believer...in love, in goodness, in kindness, and good prevailing over evil.  And in prayer.

I am a fighter.  I am strong.  I am healthy (until I'm not...but for now, thank God, I am!)   I am an optimist.  I am fearless.  And I am brave. 

 

Just a General Catching Up

The year is half over, and time is speeding by.  After my last post, I was thinking about the ordinary everyday things which, thankfully, life is full of.  A lot has gone on since my last post, but there haven't been any major milestone events...so I thought I'd just do a general catching up and share what life has been like.

Healthwise:  I continue to heal and get stronger.  I'm walking now, 3-4 miles a day (about 5 days a week).  This weekend I am upping that to 5-7 miles.  We're training for the Avon Walk in September where we need to walk 39 miles in two days.  So walk we shall....to toughen up the tootsies.  My entire abdominal area and new breast are still numb.  This past Saturday we were at the beach.  I was sitting in my sand chair and thought I'd lie on my tummy for a while.  WRONG.  I don't know why I thought I could do it.  I guess it felt so "normal" to be spending the day at the beach.  One flip on the tummy and I knew it wasn't a good idea.  Just a little reminder that things are still healing inside.

My last doctor's appointment went well.  Scar tissue on the side near the underarm....nerve damage from the lymph node dissection so still no feeling in the upper underside of my arm, but generally, things are healing well.  Admonishments for "no lifting", "no yoga," and "no ab exercises".  The tram flap scar is healing well.  We will complete the second part of the breast reconstruction in late August as an outpatient procedure. 

I've been doing a little work around the house.  I've always wanted to create a living space on my front porch, and this past weekend made that a reality.  We bought a couple yellow adirondack chairs, and I potted plants in colorful planters and picked up a little table, and voila, we have a place to sit, read, have coffee, relax on the weekends or warm evenings.

The garden is growing.  I've added butternut squash, roma tomatoes, nasturiums, more green beans.  I've been picking handfuls of chinese peas daily.  The weather is almost too warm for them to continue, but the vines are over 5 feet tall.  That's amazing considering I planted them prior to my surgery, only 8 weeks ago.

On the Pomegranate & Eye front, some exciting news!  I ordered a kiln!  Yep, after months of researching what type of kiln and what type of capability, I bought a Paragon SC2 with a bead window (so I can expand to beadmaking at some point).
The new kiln will enable me to work in copper and bronze metal clays.  Along with the kiln I ordered the clays, and tools I'll need and some supplies.  I'm really excited about it and can't wait til they deliver. 

Many of you have asked about the drawings for the book I was working on for the Eastern Diocese of the Armenian Church.  I'm happy to say that work on that is going to resume starting next week.  I had to take a break because of all the health issues, but I'm finally able to sit in one place long enough to get started on it again.

And then mixed in with all that we celebrated our 7th anniversary on the 3rd; enjoyed family on the 4th; and celebrated my husband's birthday on the 5th!   So there you have it.  Celebrating the ordinary.  Life is good and everyday is a blessing!

"Life is what happens to you while your busy making other plans."    John Lennon

The Lesson of the Peas - Support!

Just two days ago, I picked the first peas from my garden!  I had just gone out to take a look at my weekend weeding plan, when I saw the pods.  Delicious.  They never made it into the dinner salad.  We just ate them off the vine.  I picked a few strawberries, checked on the peppers and tomatoes.  Everything is growing really well.

Yesterday, after work I came home to find the peas completely toppled.  What happened.  They had grown beyond their support and with nothing to grasp on to further, they had grasped on to each other.   Their little tendrils were twisted on to one another. Knotted.   The weight of supporting one another had caused them all to fall down together.

As I was working in the garden this morning, untangling the tendrils, tying the peas to the support I had bought, I was thinking about this lesson.  We are just like the peas.  We grow up staked in our support systems:   family and friends growing together.  We mature and sometimes grow beyond our support.  Letting go, we venture out on our own.    We meet with friends that are like we are.  Sharing the same likes and dislikes, the same interests.  And for a while, it's great.  We create.  We give fruit.  We flower.  And when we need support, we hang on to each other.

But if that support is not rooted in firm foundation, we'll topple.  Together.  It's up to us to choose that firm foundation.  For me, it's my faith.   For others, it's something else.  But for me, it's my Christian faith.  The lesson of the peas is a thought-provoking one for me.   The new support I put in the garden was put in right at the base...right at the family and friends level.  The support framework is Faith.  Faith, family, friends growing together create strength, support, growth.  They cause us to flower and bring forth fruit.  And that's delicious!

My garden today: June 24, 2011

Memories of Grandma - or - Who's in the Mirror?

My grandmother lived in a duplex on the corner of our block.  She was a survivor of the Armenian genocide, a strong woman of faith, a proud American citizen, and an avid reader.  Se loved to knit, crochet and do needlework.  She also loved to garden.   I think because of the horrors she witnessed during the genocide, the beauty of her garden, the colors, the "life" it held were important and therapeutic to her.   She had a small vegetable garden in the courtyard of her duplex where she grew swiss chard, tomatoes and parsley.  While she tended to the garden, I would play waitress with her, pretending to take her order on an ivy leaf that was my pretend pad.   

She lived on the top floor of the duplex.  When you walked into her home, you would stare right at the stairs that led up to her living space.  Her house smelled like a mixture of palmolive soap and onions, and it was always cool in temperature in the grandma's house sort of way.   As a little girl, one thing that I remember are the large gardening shears that were always on the second stair of the staircase.  I remember how huge and sharp they looked, like old rusty giant's scissors.  My grandma would use these scissors to edge the grass of her front yard.  Not the garden itself, but the grass that grows in the sidewalk sections. 

She took a lot of pride in her garden.  Her knees were bad, and she'd sit on the sidewalk, one knee extended, one knee bent, and she would snip the grass where it hit the edge of the walkway, scooting herself down the plot as she worked.  Her flower garden was beautiful.  She grew fuschia flowers, the pods of which my brother and I would love to "pop" as they hung down in clusters.  She loved showy dahlias and roses, and most especially she loved to grow oriental poppies.  She would harvest the seed pods of the poppies and collect the seeds to put on her boregs and fresh baked bread.  Once she shared with me that when she and her friends were children in Armenia, she would work in the poppy fields, harvesting the pods for opium.  The beautiful red, ruffled blooms brought back happy memories of her childhood.

I've been thinking about my grandmother a lot lately.   When my life feels like it starts to get overwhelming, I think of her and her quiet strength, her faith, and her inner peace.  She had a soft face, a broad nose, her hair was long and always coiled into a bun that was pinned up at the nap of her neck.  Her stockings were knotted at the knees.  Plain.  No make up.  Basic.  Despite my health issues, compared to her life and what she had to endure as a survivor, raising a child as a single widowed mother, my life is a piece of cake. 

Lately, when I look in the mirror, I've been seeing my grandmother.  When I was young, I looked like my father; as I grow older, I look like my mother; but there are certain times, when my hair is pulled back, when I have no make up on, when I'm just plain ol' me when I look like my grandmother.  And last month, when my brother and sister came to visit me in the hospital after the mastectomy, I heard them whisper it to each other, "She looks like grandma!"  My ears heard it...and I was glad, because I thought I had been imagining it.

And the similarities don't end with looks.  I too like to knit and crochet, I love to read, and  I find a great peace in spending time in my garden.  Although I haven't had luck growing poppies, I do love to grow my vegetables and flowers.  Like her, I have bad knees and can't squat, so I do sit...and bend just like she used to. 

Yesterday, my sister Susan came over to help me weed the garden since I'm not able to pull and use my arm too well yet.  Two sisters-in-law, but truly more like sisters, we worked together - Susan turning over and loosening the dirt so that I'd easily be able to pick out the grass/weeds.  We cleaned up the garden together, talking, sharing while we worked.  And then just like my grandma, I picked up my gardening shears and trimmed the edge of the grass against the concrete.  We finished, and came into my cool house -- was it me? or did it smell like palmolive soap and onions?  I went into the bathroom to wash up, and there she was in the mirror.  I look like my grandma.  It's a nice reminder of someone that I miss and hold so dear.