Finding Dad in Arizona (Audio)

ITP #31: Even when they're gone, our parents are with us. They live on through our children and the talents they possess. In this episode of Inside the Pomegranate, Anush shares about her weekend in Arizona: the Tuscon Bead, Gem & Mineral show, taking in the sites of Tempe and beyond.
Link: Release the Fear - sculpture
Produced by Suzie Shatarevyan for epostle.net
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Finding Dad in Arizona

Panorama of the Tempe Center for the Performing Arts and the beautiful bridge and lake walk

The flaming saganaki!

We just got home from a whirlwind trip to Arizona!  We left on Friday and drove through to Tempe, which is about 6 hours away, and where my nephew and godson Varoujan lives while working on his masters at ASU.  We traveled to Arizona for the annual Tucson Bead, Gem, and Mineral Show. This is a major event that takes place every year in February.  And I've wanted to attend this show for many years but inevitably something would always come up, and we wouldn't be able to go.  But this year, I guess the stars lined up and both Neddy and I were able to get off work.  The show is such a big event that finding a hotel room without signing off on your first born is unheard of.  Tucson is about and hour or so's drive from Tempe, so we decided to get a room there. Plus, it was nice to be near my nephew and get some time in together.  So Friday night we were able to walk around the village near ASU and go out to a Greek place for dinner.

The beautiful Phoenix Library...entire back wall is a
panoramic view of the city

We got to experience something called a "flaming saganaki"....some flaming cheese that Var and Neddy ordered.  We got to see the studio where Varouj works on his architectural projects  And we got to hear about some of the cool things that he and his team are working on in the Utah desert.  And then the added bonus of the weekend was that Var was able to join us on Saturday and come to the show with us.

So Saturday morning, before we headed out to Tucson, Varouj took us to the Phoenix library which was just this amazing building...beautiful, modern but still organic in shape.  I can't do it any justice in describing it, but here are the photos.  It was really an architectural masterpiece that was so inviting that it just made you want to use the space.  There was a special section for teens only, and when we walked through I noticed that kids could check out musical instruments if they wanted to play.  Isn't that a cool idea?  The space was amazing. I noticed this about Arizona architecture:  they utilize the natural light and the position of the sun to either light, or cast shadows on the structures.  So well thought out.

Release the Fear - sculpture made of
weapons of violence

On the way out to Tucson, we passed this sculpture on a median.  It looks like the shape of a modernistic person with their hands up in the air. Kind of in a pose of rejoicing.  Varouj told us that the entire sculpture, from the base to the figure, was created with weapons used in violent acts collected throughout Arizona.  It's an 8 ton statue, and the base has the actual weapons fused to it, and it looks like the statue is rising up from the base.  It's called "Release the Fear".  The artist is Robert John Miley, and artist who promotes the power of education and art to combat violence.  I thought it was so powerful and beautifully done. Click on the link and you can read more about it.  But here's a photo.

Beautiful Beads from Afghanistan

Checking out the handmade beads 

After that we headed on the I-10 toward Tucson.  I had no idea what to expect.  Only that it was supposed to be the end-all/ be-all bead show.  And it was. And then some.  The show is spread out all over Tucson. They even had shuttles that will take you from location to location.  We started off at the bead show which was in a large hotel.  Not only were the meeting rooms, ball rooms and outside areas filled with vendors, but so were all the hotel rooms on the first floor.  Imagine walking down a hotel corridor, and each room is a different vendor with beads, jewelry making supplies, finished pieces, or findings. I was able to get some new tools for working with the metal clays that I use for my pomegranates.  I learned some new techniques. Saw some amazing handmade beads, and stocked up on supplies from vendors that I usually only do business with online.  I know I had no idea that it would ever be this big of an event.

My weakness - beautiful
ethic beads from Africa

is it a plant? Is it a horn?
It's a fossil!

All this and it was only the first location. When you check in at the bead show, they give you a big event magazine and in there are not only all the vendors, but a map of all the locations in the city where there are more vendors/more venues.  I was looking up the location of the next bead show location, but I had already spent a lot.  I know myself well enough to know that if I went to the bead show, I'd definitely be buying stuff buying MORE stuff than I already did! There were a lot of locations for minerals and gems.  I thought the guys would like to go to the gem and mineral show.  And boy was I wrong.  It wasn't just the guys that enjoyed that part.

Beautiful amethyst crystals

I was totally blown away by it. There were ten foot high quartz crystals, 4-5 foot tall geodes filled with beautiful amethysts, and fossils that were millions of years old.  I was really amazed by a fossilized flower - something so delicate - preserved for millions of years. You could see the seeds, stems and petals and they were all preserved in stone.  All this was taking place under huge tents in vacant parking lots (that were hardly vacant).  I'm talking about huge tents...like the kind you see in revival meetings.  Like a big top.  There were all kinds of gemstones, rocks...polished and unpolished, turquoise from various mines, mounds of magnetic hematite...and meteorites.  There was a meteorite on display that was the size of a canteloupe. Neddy told me to pick it up.  I took my one hand and tried lifting, no way.  It was over 30 points.  Just solid metal.  My husband Ned, being an alien himself, was so excited to find such a great display of meteories.   It was all really interesting.  and so were the people that were there.  We saw a few that looked like they had come straight from Burning Man (maybe they had!)  And again, this was just at

The back wall of the Phoenix library

this second location.   Imagine 20-30 locations all around the city, and the show is going on for two weeks. There's no way that you could cover it all in one day, let alone during a 2-3 day weekend.  Anyway...it was such a cool thing to do, and we'd definitely like to go back and try it again...but stay longer and see more. As cool as it was, it still wasn't the BEST  part of the weekend.

The best part of the weekend was spending time with my nephew.  It was a rare time spent since when he's back in L.A., we see one another at church and family functions, but not like this past weekend where we got a chance to talk, watch the Olympics, eat, "oo and aah" over beads, walk and enjoy the day together. And I got a chance to appreciate what an amazing guy he really is.

My ever so talented nephew and godson, Varouj and me

It was a full weekend.  And Ned and I really had a great visit, and we were talking about it on the drive home.  The three of us had spent a beautiful morning walking by the river in Tempe, sunny but cold and windy.  Just the type of day that my father would have loved.  Today is the 23rd anniversary of my father's passing.  It's really hard to believe that so much time has gone by.  My father was only 58 when he died.  My daughter Ani was 3, my son Nareg was 9.  My nephew's Varoujan and Sevan, 4 and 2, I think.   My nephew Varoujan is my father's namesake.  This weekend, I got to see first hand that my father still lives on through my nephew.  It's not that he looks anything at all like my father.  But Var is incredibly talented, as was my dad.  My nephew shares my father's musical ability.  Babajan was a self-taught violin player.  He worked his way through pharmacy school playing gypsy violin in a restaurant.  But he didn't stop at the violin.  He could pretty much play whatever instrument came his way.  Mandolin, oud, doudouk, kemancheh.  Our home was always filled with music.  My nephew shares this musical ability.  Piano, self taught on clarinet so well that he played in the USC marching band, guitar, doudouk, oud, and he accompanies our church choir for the badarak. I wish I could do that.

But that's not the only similarity.  It's the creativity.  I saw it in Varoujan this weekend.  He is working on his

This is the fossilized flower I was telling you about.

Masters in Architecture.  As he was showing us the bridge at the Tempe Center for the Performing Arts, the river that runs next to it, the artistry of the design, I could feel my dad there with us...and he was beaming with pride.  My father was very much in tune to his surroundings, just like my nephew.  I remember walks with my father where he would notice the quality of light, the colors of the environment around us.  And there we were this morning on a walk, and taking in the surroundings, and Varoujan commented the way the water poured off the fountain, the colors, the deliberateness of the design.  Very Babajan-esque.

As a pharmacist, his job didn't allow him the creativity that he needed.  So after work he would find his creative release through music usually, or other projects.  I remember going to the bead store with him when I was a kid.  If my mom needed the perfect necklace to complement her outfit, he would make it for her. When my mother bought my dad a book on oriental rugs, he created a mini loom and learned the knotting techniques and wove mini versions of kilims in our kitchen.  Varoujan is very much like that.  He's a skilled woodworker, a builder, and has vision to see in his mind the way the completed outcome will turn out.  Like the zeroscape he and my sister in law created in their front yard replacing the lawn with native, drought tolerant plants (and making look great!)  Which is not always easy.

Walking the bridge in Tempe with Var and Neddy

My father's pride and joy were his grandchildren.  He saw only 4 of the 8 grandchildren that he and Mamajan share.  And because he died so young, he didn't get to see how beautifully they have grown up.  I always feel so sad that my children didn't get to know Babajan for the wonderful  grandfather he was.  And sad that they were deprived of the fun, the laughter, the music, the creativity that he brought to our family.  I can feel my dad at different times throughout the year, namely when we have important family events.  And then when weekends like this happen, I realize that he is still very much with us. And he lives on through his children and grandchildren.   I can feel his presence and I can also feel his pride of his grandchildren, and I know his spirit walks with them all.

On this 23rd anniversary of Babajan's passing, I'd like to share something he taught me.

The 10 foot quartz crystal

In my old home, I had it painted on the wall of my kitchen, and I think I'll paint it in my entry way.  He said, "Always buy lemonade from children; feed the homeless, and tip street musicians."  That's the kid of guy my dad was: sensitive to children and the dreams that they have; compassionate to those that are not fortunate enough to have the home and family that he had; and in tune to the artists of the world that make our lives more beautiful.

I miss you dad!  And I'm proud of you Varouj!  Thank you for sharing yourself with us this weekend - both of you!!

Family Connections (Audio)

ITP #30: Whether you're sharing a home together living under the same roof, or sharing memories together across the globe, the tie that binds the family together is love. This week on Episode 30, Anush explores that connection, on Inside the Pomegranate.
Produced by Suzie Shatarevyan for epostle.net
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Family Connections

I really had a beautiful week.  It all started last week with my birthday.  It was such a wonderful day that I was on this pink cloud when Monday came around. I met a new homeless friend, Joseph who is only 19.

I've shared with you my desire to have a job where I can work with the homeless or needy population.  And for a while I was so down on being where I am at my office job.  But I have also been working on surrendering my will and focusing on being grateful for what I DO have rather than what I don't.  And this week showed me that I am where I need to be for now.  Because of my job downtown, I may not be working directly with the homeless, but I do get to interact with them.  Because of our In His Shoes homeless outreach, over the years, I've made some contacts with various agencies that may be able to help him.  And so for now, Joseph  was able to use these resources to take a shower, wash his clothes, and get cleaned up.  He is still on the street, and we're still working on getting him off the street and into a shelter with a program to help him get a job and some life skills.  Like I said, we're working on it.

The first few times I met Joseph, I gave him money and  food on my way into the office.  The next time I saw him, he was sitting on the corner of 7th and Fig with his sign, and I was stopped at the red light waiting to cross, and I asked him, "So what's your story?"  I think I surprised him.  "What's my story?"  "Yeah, why are you here?  what brought you here?"  So we started talking.  He's here from Portland, Oregon.  When I heard that I said, "Portland?  You left Portland to come here?"  After all, I loved the Oregon coast and I even took that little quiz on Facebook, you know the one -  "Where should you live?" - and outcome said that I would be a perfect fit in Portland!  He asked me if I had ever been to Portland (I hadn't)...and if so, have I ever spent a winter there.  He said it was bitterly cold.  And if you're homeless you won't survive on the street.  So he came here to sunny southern California.  And then his first week on the street his phone and ID were stolen.  Talk about bad luck.

So what is this 19 year old kid doing homeless?  I asked if he had family.  His mother died when he was very young of lymphoma.  And he had never known his father.  "Who raised you, I asked?"  He said he did...he managed.  He slept wherever he could at different people's homes that took him in.  I asked if he had gone to school.  He was able to graduate high school, but only because his old girlfriend's parents had taken him in and allowed him to stay with them. And that was pretty much it.  No family, no support systems. Completely on his own.

But I can still see hope in Joseph's eyes, and that is what is needed for him to help himself to get off the street.  There are r
esources out there, and connections that need to be made, but he will need to be persistent and patient, to try to make a life for himself.  It's very difficult with out family and a support system.  And I'll take my own advice now and be just as persistent in trying to find him some help.  With that, and continued prayer, I am hopeful that we'll be able to help.

We get so much love and support from our families.  This is a huge blessing.  This week, we had family visiting us from Argentina, and as I was trying to think about what to share with you, I was thinking about Joseph, my week's events, and it all came together.  Family.  In Armenian, the word family is "Undaneek". Literally it translates to "under the roof".  In other words, people that share a household...or are under one roof.  And in a practical sense, that's true.  But there is extended family, and then family of the heart as well. Like I said, my cousins are visiting us from Buenos Aires.  I never really thought of how we are related at all. Only that we are cousins.  When I was a kid, my grandmother would tell us about our our Uncle Nubar, Auntie Zabelle and Uncle Gughmez in South America. She would share letters with us that contained photos of them, and my cousins. My Uncle Gughmez came to America to visit grandma in the late 70's and we had a great time showing him all around our city and getting to know him.    Some thirty-five years ago, when I married Ani's dad, my South American cousins made the trip and came to our wedding.  And I got to meet them.  Making connections.  When my sister Sona got married, my cousins again came out.  My cousin Sonia was even in her wedding.  And through the years my family has kept in touch.  It wasn't really until a couple days ago that I tried to figure out HOW we were related.  It turns out that my grandmother (who had gone through the genocide), and Uncle Noubar's father were first cousins.  That goes wayyyy back, right?

But here's what I'm getting at.  Two nights ago, my sister in law and brother invited us over to dinner to visit

Bonding time with cousins:
Anush, Madilyn, Philip and Nicole

with our cousins.  We shared a very fun night with my cousin Martha and her husband Tato, and their two children.  We were hugging, laughing, reminiscing as if we see each other all the time.  There is this family bond there.  And although we don't see them for years at a time, there is love there that bonds us together and we can pick up right where we left off.  We are family in the true sense.  And this trip, Martha's kids were able to bond with my sister's Sona's kids.  And the bond is made and will continue.

On our way home that night, Mamajan and I were talking about what a nice evening we had.  We owe this family bond to her, really.  Even though the relationship is on my father's side, it was always my mother that kept the connections.  It was mom that would write letters and update their family with our news.  And it's always been my mom that connected our relatives in Armenia as well, again on my father's side.  Interesting. So we talked a little bit about that on our drive home as well.

My mom  is the child of genocide survivors.  Because of this, other than her mother and father, brother and sister, she had no family to grow up with.  Her grandparents, aunts and uncles had been killed by the Turks. Her parents where left orphaned and met in the orphanage in Aleppo.  It actually wasn't until my grandmother was in her 30's that she found out that her two brothers - two out of the six children - had made it through the genocide and were living in France.  They reunited.  My two uncles in Marseilles, had started their families there...and so we have cousins there in Marseilles as well.  My mom grew up knowing that she had family, but they were overseas.  Mind you, in those days, there was no internet, and calling overseas would have been way too costly.  So she wrote letters to the family that she longed for.  And they wrote back.  When my mom was a teen, her cousin Rouben came to America and spent a year or so living with them.  Finally, family.

And then when Mamajan married Babajan, his my father's family became my mother's family.  Whether they were in Armenia or Buenos Aires, her longing for family kept it all together.  Mom shared with me what my Uncle Gughmez had told her back in the 70's.  He told her it was important to keep the ties of family tight, because the world was uncertain.  If there was turmoil or problems in one country, you would always have a home with your family abroad.  My nephew just returned from a work study in Buenos Aires.  He spent 5 months working on his Masters degree there.  And he was able to make his own connections to our family there who opened their hearts and home to him during his stay.  Deeper connections made.

Our stories are not uncommon though.  We're Armenian.  Those that made it through the genocide were scattered all over the world, having to fend for themselves and rebuild their lives.  Holding on to each other, blood relations or "family of the heart" in order to survive.  Our immediate families include our grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, inlaws, and an array of  "aunties" and "uncles" that are close enough to be family...and so they are!  When I've spoken of our family get togethers to my non-Armenian friends, they've been blown away by my refering to cooking for a small group of 20 or so "because the whole family won't be able to make it."  We've been brought up to view the family as sacred.  And to cherish the family ties that bind us together whether connected through bloodlines or not.

In a sense, I think the internet has kept those connections together for the new generation.  I know that my niece will now add her South American cousins to her Facebook friends, and they will be able to share their lives together as well.  But I'm also seeing the downside to it too..  My mother is a letter writer, and I think that's a lost art.  As much as I love to write, my letters to family are through email.  Here today, and in your computer's trash bin the next.  They are not lasting...unless you file them in a folder, but even that is fleeting.  How many things moved things to a folder to save only to lose track of where I've saved them on my laptop.  As Mamajan gets older, I'm understanding that perhaps I will need to take over that gift.  The gift of tieing us all together through something more permanent...the handwritten letter.  Before the internet, I too used to write to my cousins in France.  I had met them when my mom and I took a trip when I was a teen. We wrote the first year or two, but through the years, I stopped writing.  I couldn't write in French and I'm not confident in writing Armenian.  My cousins can't read Armenian, and didn't read English...so we stopped.  But now I'm thinking that it doesn't really matter what language I write in as long as I write.  The letter will always get translated one way or the other, and the true language of the letter will be love.  Love is understood by all.

We are so very blessed to have this beautiful family that spread out worldwide.  Family in Armenia...family here in the states, family in Buenos Aires and Marseilles.  And then I think of my family of the heart...in London, in Australia, in Japan...all over.  Beautiful connections of love and support to share the ups and downs of life with.  God bless all our families and keep us tied together with love always.  And to my cousins Martha, Tato, Philip and Anush, have a safe trip back....and we miss you already!




 

One Way Monologue/Two-Way Conversation (Audio)

ITP #29: Have you ever spoken with someone who just took over the conversation? Are you that someone? What about during your prayer time? This week Anush tries to quiet her mind and have a conversation, rather than a monologue, with God. And it's Anush's birthday, so stop by Inside the Pomegranate, and join life's celebration!
Links:
Anush's book: When I Go to Church
Anush's jewelry: pomegranateandeye.etsy.com
Anush's email: anushnoor@gmail.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: 

One Way Monologue/Two-Way Conversation

From the moment we wake up in the morning, until we at last fall asleep at night, we are constantly bombarded with thoughts, texts, calls, emails.  Right?  I think it was last week's blog image that might have had a subliminal impact on me.  It said, "Are you listening?" Something about this came to me during morning prayer time, and I wanted to share it with you.

My phone alarm chirps out a cricket tone every weekday moring at 5:00 a.m.  Not too harsh a way to wake up.  And just like all of you, from the minute I wake up my mind starts racing through the day and what I have planned.  Last week, I was sooo tired that every morning was kind of a jumble of thoughts in my half sleep, with my head in a funk, trying to figure out what day it was, was it skid row outreach night? or Ascencia night?  Do I have enough crew? I have been trying to be a little kinder to myself and working on getting to bed earlier...at least by 11.  And so far - at least for this week - I've been waking up a little clearer.

Okay, so....we all have our morning routines.  And mine goes like this.  Wake up....and do my daily scriptural/meditative reading, and writing.  I found that reading alone (for me) was not being absorbed, but if I just focus on writing something about that reading and how it applies to my life, (applied Christianity, right?), then not only do I figure it out, but it kind of stays with me through the day a bit.  Then,  when I get that done, then it's time for prayer.  Now all this is happening and it sounds really relaxed and calm, right? Well, it is, and it isn't.  I love this ritual that I have in the morning because it kind of helps set the tone for my day....BUT in the back of my mind...the clock is running, and so is my to-do list.  In other words, what I want to do is sit, relax, think about what I read, blah blah blah...right? But really, this is the dialogue:

"Okay, time for prayer. It's 5:20...still have to get dressed.  Don't forget to pack the crocheting for the busride,  it's in the family room.  I wonder how mom's doing.  Hope she's feeling okay.  What meals am I going to put together for her today?  What's in the fridge for her? Remember to get a stamp to mail off the bill to the gardener?  What's the weather like outside?  Will it be cold at the busstop? Check the weather..."  Okay so you get the idea.  And although I'm not actively thinking about all these things during morning prayer, it's kind of like a running script in the back.

I just thought of a flashback.  Are any of you old enough to remember the old Addam's family series with

John Aston and Carolyn Jones...well on that show he always had this ticker tape machine going that was linked to the stock market -- how did that work anyways?  I mean what would that be connected to?  That was in the days before fax machines right?    (I'm going to need to google that!)  Anyway, Gomez would always check how his stocks in Consolidated Lint were doing.  Well, that's kind of how it is....the back of my mind is always taking stock of the day.

And this past week, in one of my daily writings, I mentioned the word "conversation" and how much I appreciated my morning conversation with God.  But I realized something.  I wasn't really having a conversation as much as a running monologue.  A conversation is two way, right?  And with my thanks, and praise and petitions to God, I don't think I was giving a chance to let God get a word in edgewise.

Have you ever spoken with someone like that?   Someone who dominates the conversation?  They go on and on, and everytime you change the subject, the conversation changes back to that person.  Well, I'm picturing that person as me, with God on the other end.  So this week I changed things up a bit.   I made my prayer time more like a conversation.  I would pray a bit.  And then stop....and sit in silence and listen.  And then continue....and stop....meditate on it....and listen.  It's not like I was waiting to hear God answer every single issue that I was discussing, but I wanted to still my mind enough to be able to feel God's presence.

Let me tell you...this was more of an exercise than I thought it would be.  It was tough...and it still is tough. Because in that silent time, it's hard to clear my mind of the ticker tape issues of the day.  The first day was just a wash.  But as the week has been progressing, it's getting a little better as I continue to work on it.  I'm still at the point of just working on "clearing my mind" during the quiet times and allowing myself to sit in peace and listen.  When the thoughts creep in, I try to acknowledge them and then allow them to float away. If I actively say, "OUT",  it creates even more dialogue in my  head.  The object is to stay focused on the stillness and the time I have with God.  I'm new at it...but I'm going to keep working on it. Do you have any experience with this? Do you have any tips for me?  What is your prayer or meditation life like?  Share with me.  I'd love to hear from you.  Leave me a comment or email me personally - anushnoor@gmail.com

On a separate note:  Today is Sunday.  And I am extra blessed because God has not just blessed me with another day, but today happens to be my birthday.  And although every day is a day to count our blessings, birthdays are kind of different because you get to sum up the year.  It's great to have a January birthday because we always start off the year with resolutions and expectations.  New milestones...and then my birthday, being at the beginning of the year, allows me to just take a step back and recap the year from my life's perspective too.  And what better way to do this, than to share it with you the things that happened this year :

First things first:  I'm alive (and Healthy!)!  Every day, and every year is a celebration and a blessing.  Think of the alternative, right?  So for that I'm truly blessed and grateful.

This past year, I walked in my 10th Avon Walk for Breast Cancer.  The first four years of those ten were 60 mile (three day walks), and then six 39-mile walks.  Every year I walk, it becomes more and more joyful as I am accompanied by more and more family and friends who make the miles go by more easily than those first few walks alone.   And God willing, we'll be walking together again, this coming September with Team In Her Shoes!

It was also my first full year of adjustment to my empty next, after my daughter Ani got married.  But the nest wasnt empty for long because soon after Ani moved out, my mom (aka Mamajan) moved in, which has been a blessing for all our families since having her with us allows us to help her when she needs our help.

And then the little children's book I illustrated - When I Go To Church - was published. This little book was a milestone for me because I went to school to be a children's book illustrator, and after years of being able to do everything but be an illustrator, it finally happened. It's a child's view of what they see when they are attending badarak.

Let's see, what else?  This past year, we traveled to Chicago twice to visit our little granddaughter Grace...and that's always fun, and sad when we have to say goodbye because we miss her so much in between visits.  But hopefully this year, there will be more visits.

Oh, here's a big one....the podcast!  Although I had established my blog, this past year Inside the Pomegranate joined the epostle lineup of  podcasts and this week, we are on Episode 29!  Already!

This past year was my first full year as a vegetarian, so there were a lot of positive changes in diet and thinking, and I've started off this year as a vegan.

My jewelry business - Pomegranate & Eye - had it's best year ever.

There were fun times on vacation, as Ned and I took a 2,000 mile camping trip up the Oregon Coast and got to experience miles and miles of old time radio CD's, beautiful coastline and forests, Ned's first ever camping trip, collecting all kinds of shells and rocks and memories!

And....we continued to feed hundreds of our city's homeless populations with our In His Shoes crew as we signed up and became one of the regular guest chefs at Glendale's homeless shelter, and we continue our work feeding and clothing those on the streets on downtown's Skid Row area.

Wow....in retrospect, this year has been action-packed!  And pretty good for an old lady like me!!! Life is good, and full!  I wonder what's in store this year!  If it's anything like the year I just had, I know it will be filled with happiness, friends, family, great memories with some great surprises mixed in.

It was a beautiful birthday.  I really couldn't have asked for it to be any better.  This morning, I received somany hugs  and happy birthday wishes from Mamajan, Neddy, sisters and brothers, and then my church family.  And then after church, my daughter Ani and her husband Eric, and my son Nareg, and his girlfriend Rosalind joined Ned and I for lunch at my favorite vegan restaurant.  It was very special to me to see how beautifully my children have grown up and now have their own lives with kind and compassionate hearts.  After we said our goodbyes, we went to my sister's to pick up Mamajan and bring her home..and I got to visit with my sister and nieces.  And now, we're home, where I logged onto Facebook and found a gadjillion birthday wishes.  Life is beautiful when you're surrounded by the ones you love and who love you.

Thank you to all of you who make my life so very special and blessed!

Remembering Dad (Audio)

Inside the Pomegranate - Podcast episode #1
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Remembering Dad

My dad and my daughter Ani - Christmas 1987
His grandchildren were his pride and joy!

This past Sunday was Father's Day here in the States.  My father passed away over 20 years ago. When you have your own children you still feel the loss of your father on this day but because you are busy creating Father's day for your own family, those memories end up getting set aside.  My children are grown now and are now including us in their own celebrations.  As I saw all the posts on Facebook of friends with their fathers, it made me really miss my own father.  And it gave me time to reflect on some of my memories of him and how much he influenced who I am today.
So I put together some things that I learned over the years....from being my father's daughter:

1.  You never stop learning:  My dad taught us that the sky's the limit when it came to learning.  He was a true believer in the school of life, and he taught us - his four children - that the day we stop learning is the day you die.  He had a natural curiosity.  He loved to read.  He knew a lot about all sorts of things.  We could ask him any question and he'd know the answer...OR, if he didn't, he'd help us find the answer.  We'd take trips as a family to the library every two weeks, each of us with our own library card.  We'd check out the maximum 10 books and bring them home.  We learned all about everything...and we learned the importance of reading.  He was always trying new projects.  One year my mom bought him a book about oriental rugs and how they were loomed.  The next thing I knew he had me in the car and we were driving across town for the right wool for his project - weaving mini sample rugs on a frame loom he built. He learned all about natural dying of the wool, knotting techniques, even about carding wool and making your own yarn.  Like I said, he was naturally curious.

When I was about 18,  I saw an article in a magazine about stained glass windows.  I thought, how cool would that be...to be able to cut glass and make something lasting with transparent color.  Right off he encouraged me to try to learn the craft.  The very next day we went and bought tools.  He encouraged me to sign up for a class.  He was always pro-education.  Whatever you learned was to your advantage.  There was no "useless information."  Eventually, I loved working in stained glass so much that I started my own business for while designing and making windows.  All because of that magazine and my father.

2.  Play a musical instrument!  My father  was incredibly musical, and he made sure to pass this love of music on to his children.  We all had to pick an instrument that we wanted to play. He sent us off to music lessons when we were young.  It wasn't a luxury.  It was a necessity.  Music was very important.  It was not only an escape but a discipline.  He himself  was a fantastic violinist, self taught. He was a pharmacist by trade and while in pharmacy school, he helped pay for his college by working as a gypsy violinist at a restaurant.  He'd wear a scarf, a clip on hoop earring, and his shalvar pants from his armenian dance costume.  And he'd set out to play dinner music on his violin.   My mom told me he was quite the romantic. But his musical talent  didn't stop at the violin. He played the mandolin, the oud, and the duduk as well.

He was my duet partner. We were always working on perfecting Bach's double violin concerto in Db minor- dad on violin and me on the flute. Measure by measure we'd go through the runs and the timing.  I'd get so frustrated because there was definitely a difference between blowing and bowing!  And though his fingers could fly over the strings of his violin, I had a whole different sequence of breatheing and blowing to deal with on the flute.   We played casuals for events around town - parties, anniversaries.  We even worked one summer together at Ports o'Call in San Pedro, a little touristy fisherman's village.  The management hired us as strolling musicians to add a little local color.  Great memories.

3.  Be kind to the homeless; tip street musicians; and buy lemonade from lemonade stands!:  I had painted this on the wall of my kitchen in my old home because I think this really gave me a sense of who my father was.  He was a softy.  Kind and compassionate.  He is the reason that I am involved in our homeless ministry.  Because as a child we were told to be kind to the homeless.  To care for them...provide for them.  On holidays we would deliver food to our community's homeless...on bus benches and behind stores.  My father taught me that the homeless are "just people, like you and me," and that we should be kind to them because other's aren't. My mom reminded me of the time we had all gone to the Canter's, a local deli for dinner.  We had just ordered our dinner when a homeless man walked in and asked if he could please buy a cup of coffee.  The management refused to serve him.  My father was insensed!  He ordered us all to get up.  He refused to eat there if they wouldn't serve the man...and we never stepped foot in there after that.  At the time, I remember how embarassed I felt because we had made a scene.  Now, I feel so proud that we took a stand and more so of the valuable lesson he action held.

On tipping street musicians:  Because  my father had been a struggling  musician, we would help them as well.  Good or bad...if they were playing on the street, he would always slip us money to put in their open case.  He said they bring music to the world and they're playing on the street because they want to share that joy.  We should appreciate them for what they do!

And lemonade?  Who doesn't love lemonade...and who doesn't love children? We would pull over for lemonade stands to encourage the children that were selling.  Not only would my dad buy the lemonade, but he would slurp it down, making the kids giggle, and he'd smile and thank the kids,  and tell them it was really the best lemonade he had ever had in his life.  He was all about making people feel good.

4.  The kitchen is the soul of the house:  I've told you about dad's violin playing.  He would lose himself in his music.  And his favorite room to do this in?  The kitchen.  In fact he would do almost everything in the kitchen including read, weave, and of course, play violin.  This would drive mom crazy, because he would plant himself right in the center and play one of his concerti.  She be trying to cook dinner, or deal with one of us and there he'd play.  He loved the kitchen and explained it this way.  The kitchen is the soul of the house.  It's where we gather to eat, to pray around the table.  It's a family place.  What better place could there be to spend your time at home?  We were lucky.  We lived in a large California craftsman home that had a square kitchen layout.  Eventually, my parents moved and the new house had a much smaller kitchen, the shape of which was long and narrow. One of my favorite photos is one of my dad holding my daughter Ani on his lap.  She was probably all of 2 or 3 and by then .  So in the picture, there's dad sitting on a chair smack in the middle of the narrow kitchen - not at the table or at the counter.  Nope, right in the middle, with his granddaughter on his lap...reading her her favorite story.

And finally, 5.  Don't be satisfied with a "C"   This was an important one.  We could never be happy with getting C's on our report cards.  A "C" meant you were "Satisfactory".  And while that was okay for some, it was not good enough for my dad.  Getting a C meant that you weren't applying yourself.  That you were just "okay".  As a kid I only applied this to my grades, but as I grew older I realized there was a greater message he was getting across.  Don't be okay with just being okay.  Be the best you can be...do the best you can do.  Try to do better. Always ask yourself, "Is that the best I can do."  The idea was not to be afraid to be "uncomfortable" in your quest to do better.  Push yourself.  Apply yourself.

There are so many other things I can tell you about my dad.  He was really an incredible person and a loving father.  When he passed away at age 58, the loss was huge...but I felt an even deeper loss for my children who would grow up not knowing his love, his wit and not being able to experience is beautiful smile and his strong hugs.  He taught me so much about life, about myself, and the older I get, the more I find that I have some of his same quirks.  Like leaving my shoes laying around the house, playing my flute in the kitchen, whistling through my teeth.  I can't pass a street musician without leaving a tip.  I can't pass a homeless person without saying hello, and I always stop to buy lemonade.

His simple lessons are instilled in all of us kids, and in my mom as well.  I'll close with a cute little story, because today would have been my parents 58th anniversary.  Several years ago, on my parents anniversary, my mom stopped at the cemetary to put flowers on dad's grave.  As she pulled up, she noticed the sprinklers were on.  She sat in the car and after waiting a long time decided that maybe she would just say her prayer in the car, leave the flowers at the curb, and come back another time.  As she was saying her prayer, she heard my father's voice.  "Is that the best you can do, Anne?"  She had to smile.  And she knew what she had to do.  She got out of the car, with the flowers, walked across the grass getting soaked by the sprinklers to go pay dad a visit.  And as she stood there all wet, she just knew inside, that my dad was looking down, smiling!

So Happy Father's day to all of you Dad's out there...and all of you single mom's that fill dad's shoes too!

An Ordinary Armenian Christmas

I love Armenian Christmas.  I love the fact that as an American-born Armenian, we get to celebrate Christmas with the rest of the country and enjoy the Christmas carols, gifts, Santa and all the trappings of the season, but then come January 6, we get to celebrate the birth and revelation of God.  My earliest childhood recollection is a view our priest dripping the holy oil into the large bowl of water during the traditional water blessing.  I remember the view of all the heads below me as I sat perched on my father's shoulders above the crowd.  "Watch..see the dove," he said to me in Armenian, "watch carefully and you'll see the oil will drip from its beak."  And as he said that, I remember my priest reading the prayers over the water and the muron dripping forth from the beautiful silver dove - the vessel for the holy oil.  To this day, I think of that image every time I witness this service.

In our family, the "celebration" of Armenian Christmas was more of a celebration of worship and faith.  My parents both sang in the choir, and later I would join them.  My brothers served on the altar.  My grandmothers sat in the pew with my younger sister.  We went to Christmas eve service, and then the following morning to church again. We would prepare ourselves for this holy day by fasting.   Of course, after church we would have a small family dinner with my grandparents, but it wasn't the feasting and merriment of American Christmas. And I was always good with that.  Until this year.

This year, things are different.  Times are changing, and I felt it.  My daughter and son-in-law's schedules didn't allow them to attend church this Christmas.  My son doesn't normally attend.  My mom came to Christmas Eve service, but she's getting older and attending Sunday morning was too much for her.  My husband came with me last night, and when I asked if he was attending the Christmas morning service, I didn't get an answer.  I took that for no.  My sister and her family had plans.  So this morning, I woke up, got ready, woke my husband to say goodbye, and headed down to church.  Along the way, I snapped a picture as I was driving.  There was no traffic, it was just like any other normal Sunday.  And it felt very "ordinary."

Maybe it was the fact that Christmas fell on a Sunday this year.  When it's fallen on a weekday, I take off work.  It somehow makes it less ordinary to get the day off to celebrate your holiday.  As I drove I was reflecting on how things had changed.  What had happened?   Today is a Holy day - the birth of Christ, and the revelation that He is God.  This is a big-time holiday.  It deserves our attention and effort.  I'm not saying it needs to be commercial, but maybe our idea for a lack of pageantry, is causing this important celebration to fall by the wayside.   If we don't preserve the specialness of this day, who will?

I arrived at church, and walking in I was greeted by members of my church family.  They were welcoming and joyous, greeting each other with the day's greeting:  Krisdos dzunav yev hydnetzav; Ortnyal eh hydnootiunun Kristosi!   Church was packed.  And the energy level was high.  The entire congregation was singing the hymns with the choir.  I started feeling better.  The sermon was powerful; and the congregation was happy as we heard of all the work we did this Christmas season: collecting toys for children in the shelter; caroling for the people in the hospital, feeding the hungry; making handmade blankets for the children who are suffering from cancer. It was a celebration of LIVING our Christian faith. 

When we were called up to communion, I looked back, and there in the crowd of people, I saw my husband.  Whether he felt the calling to attend, or he knew it was important to me (or both), I was happy to see him so we could celebrate this day together. 

During the water blessing, I watched my brother (our priest) pour the holy oil into the water, and I flashed back on my childhood....and the view from on top of my father's shoulders.  Even though things seemed to have changed this year, there was comfort in knowing that our service had remained the same for hundreds of years...and that this same service was going on in Armenian churches on this day all over the world.

I vowed to myself to start a new tradition to preserve the specialness of this holiday for my family.  Next year, I'm inviting the family over on Armenian Christmas Eve, after church. And I'm going to INSIST that they come.   To come together and celebrate life and the blessings that we are so fortunate to have.   This old tradition of celebrating Armenian Christmas in the celebratory sense has taken a back seat in our westernized life of "getting back on track in the New Year."  But it deserves focus and preparation.  It's time to make the old tradition new again!   The importance of this day is determined by each of us - do we choose to make it a priority in our lives? or have it be just an ordinary day?  

 

I wish you all a very blessed Christmas!  Christ is born and revealed; Blessed is the Revelation of Christ!

The Nest: Half Empty or Half Full?

This past year has flown by. I honestly don't know what happened to it, but here we are almost to the end of the year and it's a time for reflection. This year was a milestone year in our family. Our daughter got married. Of course I'm thrilled. But I have to say that no one ever trains us moms for the "empty nest". Sure, everyone talks asks, "how're you doing with the empty nest?", or you hear about empty nesters, but until you've gone through it, you don't know what it's about.
 
My daughter and I are very close. I was a single mom for many years, so it compounded that closeness. We have gone through everything together. School, cancer, mother/daughter camping trips, you name it. So as her wedding day approached, I know we both started anticipating the big changes that were going to be coming up. It says in the Bible - regarding marriage --that a man shall leave his mother; and a woman shall leave her home. We all know this, right? In prep for "leaving home", the week before her wedding, I took off from work. I wouldn't trade that week for anything. It was our time together. We moved her things to her new home (all except the essentials til the wedding day), we got her unpacked and situated, set up her kitchen, and spent mom/daughter time together. And one of the days we just had a good old cry! We knew the wedding was just days away. We knew she was marrying her true love, we knew it was the right thing, at the right time, but all of a sudden, we were hysterical. And it wasn't panic, or nerves about the wedding. It was just about change. About life. About growing up. But that cry did us both a lot of good, and it seemed that it was what we needed. Yes, things would be different. But the love between us would be the same. We wouldn't be living together, but hey, there was always unlimited texting. : )

So the wedding day came, and it was like a dream. She was beautiful in her wedding gown, and my son in law was dashing in his tuxe. The wedding ceremony was beautiful, and meaningful, and blessed; the reception was fun. Everything went off without a hitch, and off they went on their honeymoon. And then we get to the empty nest. I tried very hard to back off a bit. I wanted her to adjust to her new life. And have fun on her honeymoon so I was good. I didn't call or text. The hardest thing was not hearing from her daily. I'd wonder where they were, what they were doing. And then they came home from the honeymoon, and it was even harder. At least while they were away, she had reason why we couldn't see each other. But back in town ....I know, I know, it sounds silly. But you have your child with you for 25 years, and then in one day, she's out of the house, all grown up, and a wife!

Those three weeks after the wedding were the hardest. The nest was empty. And then Sunday came and she said they were coming to church and then coming over afterward. At church that Sunday, my daughter and son in law received and distributed the Kiss of Peace. Der Hayr announced them as the newest family of our church. And I felt so happy to see them there, together, participating, worshipping. After church they came over for lunch. And I saw how happy they were together. Not cheesy happy, but just "at ease" and natural happy. And I realized something: That my daughter is right where she is supposed to be. It was her time to get married. And God blessed her with a wonderful husband who loves and cares for her. And the nest is not really half empty, but half full!

Today is Thanksgiving. We just came home from my daughter and son-in-law's home. It was their first Thanksgiving, and they invited us over. It was a blessed day. There they were, working together to make the meal..making new traditions. My daughter is a nurse and works nights. She had just come home in the morning to start cooking. He had made the turkey and gravy, and they were working together to make everything perfect. The table was set, the Thanksgiving prayer was said. I looked around and saw my grown up daughter (who will always be my baby) and her husband, and then I saw the bigger picture as well. There I was, surrounded by family...our new inlaws (my khunamies), and the grandmas, my son, my husband.  Family.

Our family had grown and was full and alive. I am truly blessed. I will always be a mom. The bond that I share with my daughter will always be. And now I get to share with my new son. I am thankful for my beautiful family, the love that we share, and my nest, which is not only "half full", but truly full, and over flowing with love!

Epiphany at Thanksgiving

Epiphany - noun - a sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely or commonplace occurrence or experience. 

You know the final scene of Dickens' Christmas Carol, where Ebeneezer Scrooge, enlightened by the meaning of Christmas, opens his window on the village below and wishes passersby a Merry Christmas?  Well, that's how it is for me this year with Thanksgiving.  Upon leaving work yesterday, I was wishing everyone (and I mean everyone!) a happy Thanksgiving.  I even hugged building security on my way out.

I have always loved Thanksgiving and the concept behind it.  A day to give thanks to God for all our blessings.  A day to enjoy the family.  But this year is different.  It's more than a "concept" and so much more than a day.  In reflection of all that has happened, healthwise, this year - recovery from gallbladder surgery, colon cancer, breast cancer round two/mastectomy surgery, my brother's colon cancer - it's actually been a very BLESSED year and I am so much richer, more blessed, and in a better place for it.  My heart is filled with joy, thankfulness, love, and compassion because of the experiences of this year.

Yes, we went through some tough times....BUT, today, on November 24, I am alive and well.  Not only that, but I am thriving.  This year, I saw my daughter graduate nursing school and move on to be a successful pediatric nurse.  I have seen my son thrive in his job as a project manager.  I have witnessed the love shared between my future son-in-law and my daughter and the respect and caring they have toward one another.  I have known true love from my husband who has been there for me every step of this journey...and who worries about me.  : ) 

I am blessed with a close family...that love and care for me.  That are there for me.  That support me, pray for me, cooked for me when I came home from the hospital.  I am thankful for a mom that came over to take care of me, even when she wasn't feeling well herself....who loves to spend time with me, watch dr. phil, judge judy and oprah with me....and give me advice on what vitamins to take and what books to read.  I am blessed with a closeness between my brothers and sister who send me sound clips of TV shows of the past - no brag, just fact - who text me to see how my doctor's appointments went, who buy me a bag of 36 popsicles when I just mentioned that "a" popsicle sounds good, and who share with me the stories of my nephews and nieces to put into perpective the beauty and preciousness of life.

I am blessed with a handful of true friends who are there for me through thick and thin.  Who email me throughout my day, one or two sentences, to commiserate about how we wish were were home now, or to share our days - happy or nerve-wracking --, or send me funny photos at just the right time.  : )   Who share crochet patterns with me, and laugh with me.  Who reach out to the homeless with me and who work toward making the world a better place.  Who rent a van and drive all the way out to Carpinteria, potluck in tow, to cheer my daughter and I cross the finish line after walking 39 miles for breast cancer.  AND THEN...who sign up to walk those 39 miles with me next year!  You have made my life better - every one of you. 

I have another family - a church family - that I am grateful for.  These are family members some of whose last names I don't even know. But it's not important.  We're all part of a larger family.  These are people that come up to me on Sundays, embrace me and ask how I'm feeling.  And tell me that they have been praying for me.  I know.  I can feel it.   I am humbled by them.

I am in tune as well to the blessings of my body and how it is working, despite it's problems.  The coordination it is taking for my brain to put the thought into motion, typing it on my screen right now, seeing the words pop up, hearing the clicking of the keys while being able to hear Segovia play Mendelssohn's String quartet No. 1 in E flat major.  Miraculous.  Smelling and tasting the coffee.  Feeling the warmth of my robe, enjoying the light in my dining room, and the love of my kitties that are "kuskurduvel"ing on against my legs. 

I am thankful for all my medical providers, whose hands - guided by God - helped me be here today.  My surgeons who removed cancer, re-routed me, created new parts for me -- I am truly grateful.  And for the nurses who took care of me around the clock ....and even the workers that cooked the meals in the hospital, and those who came and cleaned my room.  I appreciate them all so much more now.

I think I could go on and on...all day.   The Epiphany of Thanksgiving...on this very special Thanksgiving, is that everyday is a day of thanks.  The miracle of life is a blessing.  Our hearts beating, day in and day out since the day we were born; the wonder of our bodies working on their own...breathing without our conscious effort.  And the realization that we are not alone here...we all are part of one another.  We belong to one another. 

Life is precious and I am so blessed to live the life I do.  A full life.  A life filled with love and fullness because of so many who grace it. 

It has been an amazing year!  A Blessed Year!  Happy Thanksgiving!

Photos from Avon Walk Santa Barbara 2011



Opening Ceremony - 6:00 a.m.  We're ready!



 Here are photos of our amazing weekend at the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer 2011.  We walked 39.3 miles in two days.  The photos are out of order, but I put captions. You'll get an idea of what it's like from them.

Basically, it's set up so that Friday evening, you check in at Event Eve.  Turn in any last checks you may have received, take photos, get pumped up.

Day 1:  Opening Ceremony - Walk 26 miles (full marathon) and spend the evening in the Wellness Village

Day 2:  Walk 13 miles (half marathon).  Closing Ceremony.

In between you make a lot of memories, feel the hope and love of those around you, and feel that you really can make a difference.  Enjoy!



Getting started at 7:00 a.m.  We were a sea of pink as far as the eye could see!



Lunch stop at mile 10.6.  Sandwiches and a chance to sit!

Last year's cheerleaders returned.  Their wives were walking again this year!

Ani at event eve, writing out her sign.  I'm so blessed!



Our packs with the names we carry with us.

I'm a little slower in the morning than Ani.  She's telling me to hurry and pack it up.  We need to hit day two at 7:30 a.m.!





Event Eve photo....at check in





Tent City.  New pink tents.  This is where we sleep



Day 2 lunchtime.  Assessing our wounds.







Killer blister. 





Amazing celebration potluck picnic from my family and friends!



At closing ceremony with the other survivors!

Ani, comfy in her coccoon - Morning two

A hug from my baby sister!! 



Still smiling at mile 39.3!!! At the finish line