Mama, Mama I'm Coming Homeeee

Well, technically I already am. As I write this, Soleil is sitting next to me, complaining, "You talk in a different way." Once I started showing off my Armenian to her, every time I correct her English, she claims to not understand me. The title of this blogpost comes from an Ozzy Osbourne song that I often heard growing up, and was stuck in my head for all twenty hours of my travel time. Once I landed in New York - with no sleep since I was in Armenia - and saw an entire group of women standing around smoking, the song changed to "I'm in a New York State Of Mind" and also "AMERICA  F-YEAH".

Then, I got in the car with my mother and headed over to my great aunt's wake. I was dirty and smelly, in the same clothes for the last couple of days. I wasn't expecting to be going straight there, but we needed to pick my father up. "Everyone's waiting for you," my mother explained. First things first, we stopped off at a pizza joint to grab a slice of some New York pizza. I felt compelled to tell the girl behind the counter that this would be my first slice of heaven in over six months and that she should feel honored.

Now, I want to give ya'll some back story on what awaited me at the funeral parlor. While Patricia Hennessy was a 'distant' relative, I've known her and most of her descendants my whole life. My grandmother, Patricia, and their brother all bought summer homes within the Huletts Landing community on Lake George in upstate New York, sometime in the 1970's. My grandmother and her brother Luke had eight children and Patricia had ten. A good majority of those twenty six cousins got married, had children of their own and are now grandparents. All in all, at the time of her death Patricia alone had around 35 grandchildren and 26 great-grandchildren. Throughout my life, I have spent two to three weeks at a time at Lake George in the summer, sometimes knowing who my third cousins were and sometimes not. Ironically, I did not find out until about five years ago that one of the cousins' whom I most strongly resemble, was in fact a family member. The families that have homes in Huletts are a sort of family in and of themselves, and I have the element of actually being related to a great number of those people.

What I'm trying to get at here, is that when I entered the funeral parlor - it was pretty overwhelming. Some people knew I was returning, others did not, but they all had a ton of questions. For just having traveled 20 hours, with no sleep - I think I handled it pretty well. The first twenty-four hours home in general were overwhelming, but not in the way that you are thinking. I was surprised at how easy it was to slip back into the life I left behind. I had no idea what to expect about returning- what it would feel like, if I would experience culture shock, etc. The next morning, as my brother and I were driving home from the burial he asked me what I saw. I didn't really understand the question, so I explained that it was easier to be home than expected. He pushed further, asking, "No- what are you seeing, right now look around - what do you see?". "Money," I replied. "Money, and people who have places to be, jobs and things to buy."

So, I've got three weeks left in America. I am already missing my Peace Corps family to death. In a way - I feel like I am in this weird time limbo. I was able to come back, and pick up where I left off - even go to the same yoga class. Back home, it feels as though time has stood still here in many ways and gone on in others. While for me, I have seen and experienced so much in the short six months since leaving home, that it's hard to resolve those two ideas. I don't really know where to begin. A few folks have asked me, "How was your trip?" At first, I found this a little insulting. Six months is a little more than a 'trip'. Armenia is my home now, that's where my life takes place currently. And yet, now - it does feel like a trip - in the slang definition. (ie: That show was a real trip, man.)

So. Yeah. Armenia's been a real trip.

... and I can't wait to get back!

Song of the Week: Grateful Dead - Truckin'
Quote of the Week: "If ya press this button hea, it gets one more hotta." TJ


Special thanks to the following for lending a helping hand during a difficult and trying time the week before I left Armenia: Phi Nyguen, Brian Bohkart, Chris Sherwood, Marisa Mitchell, Chris Boyle, Lauren Leary, David Lillie, David Corsar and of course, my super amazing host family.

A Farewell

18 days. There were only 18 days left until my feet were on American soil. I thought she was going to hold on, that I would get to see her one last time. We were getting so close and I felt confident it would work out for us all – my mother, Cetta and me.

But life does not adhere to our desires and needs, it simply comes at us. Sometimes we catch the pitch, even though it’s a curve ball. Other times, it goes way over our heads and we frantically chase it, our backs turned on the game. And then sometimes, it’s a change-up; it looks like it’ll be a fast pitch but once thrown - it slows, taking longer to come into the strike zone than expected. It doesn’t mean you’ll catch it – because if we are the catcher, there is always a batter. Cetta had been standing at the plate, in this particular game of life, for a long time. We all knew she had a full count and were waiting for the outcome of the next pitch. She surprised us all, hit the change-up right out of the ball park. She jogged the bases and went home.  And when the hitter hits a homerun, you can only sit back and watch.

My mother’s friend Cetta had a big loud laugh and a strong hug. She loved loyally and fiercely. She was a damn good Italian cook and could knit the hell out of a blanket. She was my mother's best friend, and sister for the last 20 years. For a long time, sadly, I saw Cetta as another adult who understood nothing about life and was stuck in a cycle I wanted nothing to do with. When Cetta was diagnosed with cancer in the spring of 2011, I was off doing my thing in Boston. I had let go of most of my resentment of her simply through time and distance. Since I was not living at home and we hadn’t had a relationship since I was 12 years old, it was a complete non-reality for me. After some time she went into remission and was no longer going through chemotherapy. When I moved home in October, I was utterly wrapped up in Peace Corps and my ex-boyfriend. It wasn’t until later, with two or three months before my departure that I started making time for Cetta.

The last time I saw her, I had invited her over for brunch. I knew there was a chance we wouldn’t have time like this together again, but in a very disconnected way. I wanted to treat her to a nice breakfast, with my Martha Stewart blueberry scones, home fries, mimosas and all. It was a really nice time, with Cetta sharing stories from her youth and telling me if I find a husband in the Peace Corps I, “betta NOT live wit him before you getchya ring!”.  That day, Cetta let me feel the mass that had started showing a few weeks before.  At the time, she was feeling healthy and joked about the cancer saying, “Ya know, you would think – finally, now that I have cancer I’ll be skinny- but I’m still fat! I mean seriously, what the hell?!”

Over the summer, I came to understand that it was unlikely Cetta and I would see one another again.  It hit me like a ton of bricks and for several days I was processing and coming to terms with this. I started writing her a letter, apologizing for my angsty adolescent ways and pushing her out of my life. I wanted to let her know that I knew she had always loved and cared about me, that the times she told me to be better to my mother, she was right. I faced the impending reality of her death and for the first time, saw her role in my and my mother’s lives clearly. She was a rock for my mother, and I love her for this alone.

Cetta never did respond with a letter in return, but we did get to speak on the phone about a month ago. She was staying at my parent’s home after Hurricane Sandy hit the east coast – as they had electricity and she did not. We got on the phone and I could hardly recognize her voice. It was no longer booming and strong, thick with our Long Island accent. I asked how she was, she responded saying, “I’m better now, I’m not crying anymore because I’m with your mother and she’s taking care of me.” I told her I was glad, and she goes on to say, “Carolyn, I want you to know you never need to apologize for anything – we love each other, I love you and that’s all that matters, okay?”  I wasn’t ready for her to bring up my letter so suddenly and it caught me off guard, so obviously I started crying. Next thing I know, she’s asking me if there are any boys- if I’m having sex. “Oh don’t worry,” she says. “Your mother didn’t hear me ask you that!”

Yesterday, as I sat in the back of the bus listening to my ipod, I thought about Cetta. Who she’d been for me, for my mother. I’m grateful that the last moments we shared were filled with raw honesty and lined with laughter. The last day we spent together, she turned to me and said,

“I am so excited for you to do this. I always wanted to see the world, but I was too afraid to leave home. Go see everything Carolyn, do it for me and then tell me all about it.”

Concetta Morrill (11/13/62- 11/29/12) 

The Road Taken

The Peace Corps road is full of unexpected twists and turns. Flexibility is rightfully spoken about throughout the application process, for this very reason. To say this is an emotional roller coaster is an understatement. Every time I sit down to record the most recent happenings in my yellow leather bound journal ( I'm a very important person, I have many leather bound books), I find myself overwhelmed trying to simply recall the last five or seven days. It seems whole months pass from one weekend to the next. A lot happens that needs noting and I struggle to remember it all.

And yet, one time, I received a response email that I'd completely forgotten about writing. I thought to myself, "Oh right, that was a few days ago." When I looked at the time stamp from my original email, it had been 12 freaking days before. Being in Peace Corps is sort of like being high all day, every day... not to say I know anything about that. I've read many studies. From my leather bound books. While smoking a cigar. But, ummmmm yeah -right- like I was saying; Studies have shown that the active chemical component of marijuana affects our sense of time. Users report feeling time either slowed down or sped up, and their short term memory is temporarily affected. This pretty much sums up my life. A good example of this 'stoned' (as the kids like to say) feeling is the last few days of my life here in Armenia.

Typically, by Wednesday of the school week I hate everyone and can't wait to pass my day off (Thursday) alone, farting in my room. (Clears throat). What I meant to say was, I love everyone all the time and go to school on my off day because I can't stand to be away from the children. Regardless, Thursday I get to have a late morning, which means I can stay up as late as 10 p.m. the night before! YOWZA!! In the day I will do some school and personal inventory, do my laundry, clean my room, etc. In the afternoon I have club for the Sr. High girls and my diamond in the rough comes for tutoring at the house around 5:30. Recently, I've been walking her home, as it's dusk by the time we are finished and this time I finally agreed to come inside. I met her grandparents and spent quality time with her mother and brother. We had some tea and fruit, talked about various topics and I left soon after. My student and her mother insisted they then walk ME home, as it was fully night by that time. It was a beautiful starry night, with a new crescent moon shinning; and also the first time I was out walking around after dark since being in Malishka.

Once home, I sat down to eat dinner by myself and enjoy a glass of wine. Siranush eventually came to join me, as she can not guiltlessly allow me to eat dinner alone. Everybody has started making their homemade wine, including my host dad. He realized I was in the drinking mood, so he joined us at the table and broke out the good stuff. His most recent batch was so strong, it tasted closer to hard liquor than wine. We had a grand old time and got to a new level of understanding and respect for one another (which often happens in non-party drinking situations). I was able to ask him important questions like, "What do you want for your daughters' lives?", and, "Can the cat PLEASE sleep in my bed with me?" By the time I retired to my sleeping quarters, I was shocked to discover that it was after midnight! How unlike me, on a weekday no less! I promptly turned on my DROID to look up phone numbers of people in America I would not normally call. I had just had the most enlightening and important conversation of my lifetime! Someone needed to know! I believe I called five different people, and after not a single pick-up, I then resorted to gmail. Fortunately, a friend was on and I demanded that he call me, I had important things to say. The next morning, I was surprised to learn the duration of our phone call was 40 minutes. In times like these I like to quote Vonnegut, "I have this disease late at night involving alcohol and the telephone."

Luckily, my Friday schedule is short and easy. After getting home and eating lunch I started to crash hard. I called my site-mate Lauren to tell her that I wasn't going to make it out to Shatin ( our other site-mate Elisabeth's village). I took a quick nap before my very first English club for the teachers. My host mother, Siranush, is also a teacher so she sat in and then pulled me out halfway through to see if I wanted to hop a ride to Yeghegnadzor (the midpoint between my village and Shatin) with her and Samvell. I still needed to run errands in Yeg, so I agreed. After going to the bank, I ran into another site-mate Ed who was on his way to meet up with the rest of Club Yeg (as we affectionately call our little family). After pizza, beers and some more procrastination - I decided on a whim to in fact head over to Shatin with the gang. We had a grand old night, farting, cuddling and being generally ridiculous. We talked of all the things we want to do together as a family unit: be better about our spending, cook together more often, go to a festival somewhere in Europe over the summer...

The next morning, as we started preparing to head back to Yeg, Trevor - the 4th member of Club Yeg dropped the bomb he'd held on to for the last 15 hours, that he was ET-ing. ET stands for Early Terminate, meaning you leave and never come back. To an extent it came as a great shock to us. Lauren and Elisabeth were much closer to Trevor than I was; yet, Trevor and I spent our summer together in language class. We had a lot of good laughs and are close in our own way. That morning, I got to play therapist while the girls cried and I asked Trevor level headed questions about his decision. Essentially, he feels his place is at home - that that is where his purpose and priorities lie. Later that morning, as the shock passed we decided to stay together that day. We had a big brunch with mimosas and all. I am sad to see him go, disappointed that our relationship won't have a chance to be whatever it may have been after being site-mates for two years. Yet, I'm grateful for all he did bring into my life, for facilitating the great relationship I now have with Lauren and Elisabeth, for always telling me how beautiful my voice is, for supporting me through the final stages of my break-up and always accepting my oddities and quirks without blinking an eye. He's one of the good ones, but we do what we must.

In the end; it is as it always was, as it always was going to be.

Reckoning

Don’t ever forget

the true source. It's location


what it looks and feels like


how it tastes. Though beauty


and magnificence are fleeting, their


origin is constant. Don't lose

what you know


to be true, to be real. Seek love

from those with their arms already extended,

you can not force open closed fists.

You can not will a thing.


Know this. Remember

you are the rock in the rushing river.

This past week, I was at a conference with the rest of the volunteers. The group I came here with in May ( A20s) all arrived together Tuesday evening. Then on Thursday, the group that came the year before (A19s), as well as the RPCVs, rolled in. The hotel we stayed at was the nicest one yet. It meets your average expectation of a Marriot. I was excited for everyone to be together again, if only to jot down all of the very ridiculous things that come out of people's mouths. I also was looking forward to facilitating my first TEFL session with one of my site mates, Lauren, and to teaching my first ever group yoga session! I was far more excited about the latter, as you may imagine.

I want to give you some back story on my relationship with yoga. For the last three years, we have been dating seriously and had been fooling around for maybe five years before then. In the beginning, I simply wasn't ready to be committed. This had to partly do with how we'd gotten together. Things started out pretty casually, I didn't take it seriously and found it to be unimportant in my life. Later, when I decided to get my act together my senior year of college, we took it to the next level. I began realizing that yoga gave me what I had been seeking out in all the wrong places, all the wrong people. The hours I spent with yoga started to become all I really needed. When I finally let yoga become a part of my routine, making time to be together and eventually being alone with yoga, taking it back home; well, that was when I understood the true nature of our relationship. My love for yoga is not jealous, it is kind, it is all those things people like to recite at weddings. 

I am grateful for all the hours spent in the English classroom, because the jitters and stress of leading a group of people have nearly washed away completely. For my first class, I tried to be fancy and give a regimented Ashtanga Series A session. Everybody had really wonderful and encouraging responses, but I knew to some extent they were being kind. I didn't feel totally in the groove, so there's no way that they did. Later that evening, I experienced some jealousy, some anger and then later, total elation when I won. The evening came to a close with my friend David catching me repeating something I'd said earlier in the evening to my reflection in the window.  In summary, there was a lot of dancing and good times, sliced with some hurt. 

The next morning, when David came over at 7am for a private session, I explained that hopefully he wasn't seeking anything in particular, because I really needed to do my own thing and simply have him follow.  He complied and we commenced our practice. There is nothing better than an early morning yoga session. I have always loved (but not always been so committed to) rolling out of bed and onto the yoga mat. That morning, Lauren and I kicked off the day with our TEFL session. We received a lot of positive feedback from both my Director and peers. 

Somewhere in that day, lines from the above poem started coming to me. In the morning, before yoga, I felt I'd acted immature at some points in the night. That I'd digressed to a less evolved version of me, somewhere closer to my state of being during college. It's never a good feeling and it isn't the first time in-country that I've felt this way. Many of us joke about this state of affairs; that it feels like high school and we act like we're in college. The high school aspect comes with the cliques, the gossip, and other bullshit. The college part, is the sleeping around and the attitude that this isn't 'real life'. In an effort to cope, we lose ourselves completely and the aftermath (for the most part) it ain't pretty. I'm not alone in this feeling. Many of my friends are experiencing something similar. Maybe not so much with the social aspect, but for many of us - the parts of ourselves we wished to leave behind in coming here, have somehow escaped their cages. We are forced to confront them and it isn't easy. For me, it means seeking from people who simply are not capable of giving me what I need. 

So, I digested these thoughts for a day or so, had some useful conversations and the next day, spit out the above poem during a Safety and Security presentation (...oops). The poem was also partly inspired by the sunrise I'd chased that morning. At the end of the day, I had another group yoga class and felt that I would be more in-tune with the classes needs if I practiced alongside them. The conference was over with and everybody just wanted to celebrate this, via relaxation. For me, coming back to what I know makes me feel whole and complete. My yoga practice has been, hands down, the most integral component of this experience. When I am on the mat, everything retreats: my insecurities, my fears, my doubts - all of it. I am left only with a relaxed body and a clear head. I feel sexy, empowered, energetic and fearless. 

So yes, yoga is my most long term, serious relationship and I am certain we have a future together.


Album Of The Week: In Rainbows Radiohead
Quote Of The Week:  After a long pause on the phone...
                                    Soleil: "Carolyn?!"                                       Me: "Yes?"
                                    Soleil: "I ate dinner."

My Most Homesick Day of the Week

... is Sunday.

I wake up most Sundays missing home. I yearn for the foods, sounds, smells and sights. Instead of telling you what's new (because nothing really is, besides the fact that we got a toilet!) I am going to write a lengthy post describing Sundays of my past. It's important to point out that this isn't to say I am very homesick right now. Actually, that was about three weeks ago. Yet today, as I felt that strong pull to be home, I decided to share this with you - my beloved followers (and secret stalkers).

Growing up, Sundays were not my favorite day of the week. It meant (without fail) church in the morning and homework in the evening. These two factors blinded me from the awareness of the magic that was happening around me. When it wasn't golf season, my father would sometimes wake up early enough to make his famous French Toast, with extra crispy bacon on the side. Sunday was ALWAYS fresh bagel day. I can close my eyes and smell the sweet inside of a cinnamon raisin bagel. No one, no one I tell you, knows how to do a bagel like New York.

Sunday afternoons were spent out in the backyard on the trampoline, swing set or hammock in the warm months. My whole life (when living with my parents) Sunday night is our sit down family dinner. My father will cook nice steaks on the grill with a side of potatoes and asparagus. When we were kids, the vegetable side was broccoli - so some things have changed. On Sundays, there was also a good chance there would be dessert after dinner. And as you may imagine, I shamelessly love my desserts. Ugh. Brownies and a cup of cold skim milk was like heaven on earth back in those days. This is still true, but I have switched to almond milk. (Which I daydream about drinking on a regular basis).

In grade school, many of my CYO basketball games were on Sunday afternoons. Before I started playing, my Dad coached my brother Andrew's team. I fancied myself their manager - going to practices and holding the clipboard, fetching my crush his gatorade. Later, it meant seeing my friends and having fun. The girls I played CYO with are still some of my closest friends. I distinctly remember the first day Jessica Sgueglia asked me to come over after practice. I thought she was so cool!

Once I was older, and no longer forced to go to church, Sundays became my absolute favorite day of the week. In the summer, I would wake up around 10 a.m. , put my bathing suit on and either jump in my or my friends' car then head for the beach. In the evening, my girlfriends would come over and watch HBO or Intervention together. In the fall and winter, it meant waking up whenever I felt like it and laying in bed reading for hours. Finally getting up, only to put a pot of coffee on and continue reading a book or journalling. Eventually, making brunch or going to it with friends. In High School, during football season it meant watching JETS games with my Dad or friend Caitlin Munson while eating Tostitos.

More recently, while I was living at home in Babylon before leaving for Armenia, Sundays took on a whole new meaning. It meant waking up with my niece and father, him cooking breakfast for both his baby girls. Later that evening, a shared bottle of wine and The Walking Dead.

What can I say, Sunday just means home. That home that exists mostly in our hearts and doesn't have to do with one place, person or time. It's that sense of belonging, the routine, knowing my place and what to expect, whether it be a bomb-ass steak dinner or an hour long cry fest with your girlfriends.

Oh, I have almost forgotten the most glorious component of Sunday: Bath time.

Oh, my bathtub!! My sweet, my love, our separation has affectedly me deeply. I long for your warm embrace, my solitude and serenity! But as you may have heard, I return to you soon. We shall be reunited again. Kisses and such - Carolyn.


Quote Of The Week: "Look at her tryna dance all cool and shit, like she didn't just fart."
Song of the Week: Asaf Avidan - One Day / Reckoning (Wankelmut Remix)

Regrouped, Refocused.

"There are those of us who haven't yet told our stories, or refuse to tell them, and so we become them: we hide away inside the memory until we can no longer stand the shell or the shock." Zoli Colum McCann

Zoli is a novel loosely based on the life of a Gypsy poet roaming Czechoslovakia as fascism spreads in the 1930's. I’ve shared the above quote with a lot of different folks as I travelled around the central region of Armenia last week (which you can blame my recent delinquency on). I also read it to my Daddy over the phone, encouraging him to start writing me some freaking letters! (And that there, my friends, was another plug).

Last Saturday, I caught the 9am bus to Yerevan on the side of the road all on my own- like a big girl! This was the first time my host father did not insist he drive me the 10 minute walk to the roadside. For some strange reason, I felt like a small child running away with my big backpack, increased heart rate and six-pack of Hot Cars in a plastic bag. The toy cars were for Vartincheek, the grandson of my first host mother, Silva. Just thinking back to that morning, which was about 10 days ago, feels like a month.

What’s that age old saying, “time flies”? (So much for the teacher who once told me to avoid, at all costs, using clichés in my writing). I am struggling to come up with some clever, poetic way to describe the whirlwind effect of life these days. It seems I woke up a few days ago and it was October, and in one more it will be November. I haven’t yet figured out how to straddle and ride this horse in a manageable way. It all just keeps getting away from me.

Anyway, once I got into the city I dropped my stuff off in the most American feeling apartment in Yerevan and headed out to Akunk. It was surreal driving back nearly three months later, alone and twice as independent than when I first left. The first bit of time was a little awkward, both the family and I needed some warming up. I admit, I've been slacking in keeping contact with them. I feel badly, but I don't feel close or connected to them the way that I did over the summer. It's almost like they were my starter relationship. I was naive in the ways of the nature of this relationship and while in it, felt it was the perfect fit for me. Yet now that I have found someone new, I realize that we weren't really all that close or similar. Ultimately though, I was happy to see them and we laughed at the same old jokes. They asked me about my new family, school and told me to come home soon. 

Afterwards, I met my friend in the nearby town and later we headed to Yerevan for a birthday celebration. I guess I needed to remind myself why I should steer clear of Jameson. Well, I remember now. Sunday morning, I was lucky enough to have the wonderful facilities of the Norwegian Consulate's apartment (an American who's been in Armenia for 13 years and works closely with Peace Corps). My friend Brian was kind enough to bring me back some breakfast from my favorite establishment in Yerevan, Green Bean. It feels like America in there. They serve unlimited unfiltered coffee, bagels and other gloriously American things. I got to bake in the hot sun for a good two hours on the back patio, sipping coffee and eating my bagel. In the afternoon, I headed back to the city of Talin with Brian and his sitemate (and my friend) Erica. Brian and I reminisced about high school as we watched 10 Things I Hate About You, then later made chocolate chip cookies with the girls and watched another movie.

In the morning, I left with my friend Phi's sitemate and headed to their site. I got to walk around Karakert and go to Phi's English club. I taught the kids the Barney "I Love You" song. It's ironic to be so in love with teaching this song when as a kid I thought it was really stupid. My third graders and I sing it together every class. Now that they actually know the words, it makes my heart melt. But, as I was saying, my time with Phi was short but sweet and the next morning we hopped the train with her two counterparts and headed back to Yerevan. I left her at a Peace Corps workshop and walked to the center of the city. It was really cool to explore a part of the city to which I had not yet ventured out. I parked my bum back at Green Bean. They started playing the album Rumors from start to finish and I opened my journal. For a two full hours, I was in absolute heaven. 

By the time I finally made it back to Malishka on Thursday afternoon, I was totally wiped out. I had been gone for five nights, but it felt more like ten. The next day I had the same workshop with my counterpart and peers from this area. We all got together afterwards to celebrate Halloween, as we weren't able to make it up North to meet with the rest of the volunteers. Fun was had by all; jokes were made, wine was drank, songs were rapped and tears of laughter were shed. I could not have asked for a better Halloween weekend. I didn't even have to get dressed up! 

Now, I am getting back into the groove with my counterpart at school. I swear, I left for one week and a quarter of what we had worked up to had been lost. This week my school started the winter schedule, so we do not begin until 9am. It's really nice for me because I am keeping my 6:30 alarm, but have more time to pretend like I have no responsibilities as I lay there listening to music afterwards. It's also really incredible how much that cold was sucking the life from me. I feel like a new person, both in and outside the classroom. It's so nice to be healthy again, after a full month of battling germs. 

Ok, that's enough for now. I'll share more thought provoking stories another time. 



Quote Of The Week: "I am computer." My student
Song Of The Week: "Every Single Night" - Fiona Apple

The Daily Grind

Ok gang, so I realize I haven’t been so great at giving ya’ll a better idea of what actually transpires day to day.  I am going to talk about some things going on that are exciting and others that are… not so much.

As you may remember, I teach grades 3^rd through 12^th. At first grades 4^th, 7^th, 8^th, and 9^th were not a part of my schedule. After the TEFL director came for her visit last month, I started reexamining the areas where I might be needed and those in which I might not. It had been suggested to me that my time would be better well spent with the younger children than the older ones. Now, I skip 12^th grade once a week and go to 4^th grade twice a week. In my 11^th grade, I take the four students who give me their attention and work with them separately in the English room, while my counterpart babysits the others. Soon, once I get over this damn cold, I will start clubs for 7th, 8th, and 9th.

Over the summer during training, when previous TEFL volunteers would tell us how they had decided to stop attending certain classes, I remember not really understanding or agreeing with the decision. After a month in school, I now know better. Here’s the thing: while these kids have been ‘learning’ English since 3^rd grade, there are a handful of reasons why most of the 11^th and 12^th graders have retained as much of the language as the 5^th graders.  1. It seems English teachers are on high rotation. 2. Many of these previous teachers could not, themselves, speak the language.  3. The idea of the ‘America Dream’, which is used as a motivational tool by other teachers in the states, is out of the question.

By the time most of these students are in their early teens, they know what it’s going to be for them. Typically, the girls are waiting on a man to come ask for their hand in marriage, then later pop out a baby and maintain the household. One of my seniors is already engaged, and while she claims to want to leave Armenia ‘so freaking bad’ (a song lyric I taught her), she is the most stubborn in regards to learning. She will flat out refuse to participate in most of the activities I plan out. The boys will inherit the manual labor of their forefathers or continue perfecting their trade, whether it be fixing cars or driving them, fishing, farming, etc. On average, maybe two or three students per grade will go on to study higher education.  (I’m speaking in regards to my specific school here in Malishka).

If I were them, I would probably be similarly unmotivated.  They know that they are far behind, and many adults gave up on them back in the 5^th grade.  What do they care about this goofy unmarried American girl that tries to act cool, while speaking gibberish to them? They don’t.

Okay, so now for the exciting part. My little babies in the 3^rd, 4^th, 5^th, and 6^th grades are so excited to have me there. (Well, not so much 5^th grade, because my oppressive stern nature is required in that classroom). The 4^th graders literally celebrate my arrival to class twice a week. They still believe anything is possible and that they are just as capable of learning as their neighbor. One of my small victories thus far, is when the bad boys know they are being bad, I give them ‘the look’ and mockingly they say, “PLEASE BE QUIET!”. But hey, they are speaking English and appropriately (it also makes me giggle on the inside). 

Also, there is a big, fat diamond in the rough here. I discovered her one mundane afternoon in my 10^th grade class, maybe in week two or three. For homework I had assigned 10 sentences using new vocabulary. Most of the students reiterated a version of the examples we had gone over the class before; but these sentences she made, Oh.My.God.! They were impressive for a student in the states! They were thoughtful, complex and revealed a greater understanding of life. Luckily, the volunteer before me also recognized her shimmering, shinning light and had been strongly encouraging her to participate in the FLEX program. 

FLEX is a program sponsored by the American Councils, that sends between 20-30 high school students, from mostly ex-Soviet countries, to study at a high school in America for one year. The application process is really similar to Peace Corps, with medical exams and all. Malishka’s diamond just got through the final round of testing this past week. It’s a crime if she is not given the opportunity to see life outside the village! Just an example of how incredible this girl is: Last week, before the FLEX interview, I invited her over to my host family’s house for a mock interview. When I asked her to speak about important things she learned at GLOW camp from the year before, she started talking about the gender issue in Armenia. Gender issues.  I don’t even think gender issues were on my radar until college. Now, I have her reading Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger. It’s so inspiring to sit and discuss terms like ‘existential crisis’ with this girl.  I can’t get over it.

All in all, the good and the difficult are well balanced in my professional life here. Some things are tough, and I wine to Siranush about them, others are awesome and I gush to Siranush about them.  Then, I call my brother Andrew and we laugh about everything. 

Quote of The Week: "I did yoga for two weeks, it was good. Yoga is good."

Song Of The Week: Cat Power: Satisfaction

An Apology

Dear Friends and Family,


I want to express my deepest apologies if you have found any of my posts vulgar and or offensive. This was not my intention when I set out to keep a blog. Sometimes I find myself getting carried away, and while I want to 'be myself', I realize this blog is to inform you darlings of my experiences over here - not to reveal my fondness of sexual innuendos or vulgar language. I must admit, these are perhaps parts of my personality you've had the pleasure of never encountering. What can I say, I feel like an adult with the freedom to behave as I see fit. And well, I guess, I am not exactly concerned with other's perceptions of how I approach life.

This is beginning to become a justification though, so let's get back to the matter at hand. I'm sorry if some things I may have said were too over the top, or just downright (in your eyes) wrong. I will be sure to take your feelings and sensitivities into greater consideration from here on out.

Yoga and Cartwheels Over a Sunset

Well hello, my darlings! I have missed you like the desert misses the rain! (Remember that tune from the mid to late 90’s? “Annnnndd I misss youuu yeaaahh”).

I had the great intention of writing a new post directly after the weekend, but it just so happens that frolicking in the grass barefoot until the sun goes down when you are on the back end of a cold is a terrible, terrible idea.  I am not one for sickness, I can often be found boasting an immune system of equal strength as my astrological sign during cold season. So, knowing this, you might guess I am appalled at my body’s recent inability to kick a simple cold. Maybe it is the lack of understanding about how colds are passed here in Armenia, maybe it was all the cigarettes Friday night, maybe it is the frolicking barefootness – one will never be able to say. All I know is, I don’t have a bathtub to cry in over the ordeal while in the fetal position so as to cope, and it’s really beginning to wear on me.

I digress.

This past Friday was Teacher’s Day at school. Classes were cut short and school let out around 12:30 so that the teachers could all go home and get ready for the party. I have had my fair share of experiences with Armenian parties, so to an extent I knew what would transpire; I would be asked to toast, to dance, to eat a lot, and encouraged to drink amounts of alcohol that no other female Armenian would consider appropriate with my Director.  In the meantime, I would be on call to give directions to any volunteer leaving the capital trying to find their way down to Vayots Dzor for the Wine Fesitval.

I was genuinely looking forward to seeing both familiar and unfamiliar faces over the weekend. I also had plans (for the first time) to cook a big brunch Sunday morning for both my friends and host family.  I left the teacher party earlier to go get sassed-up and head to the nearby town where my fellow Club Yeg members and their guests would be awaiting my arrival. (Well, this isn’t exactly true. I may or may not have harassed my friend Chris with an overuse of vulgar language on the drive over with my host dad. Some might say the recent increase in my affinity for speaking vulgarly, because those around me do not understand a word of it, is becoming a slight problem). I had spontaneously cut bangs into my hair the night before and was anxious for positive attention.  Mommy got what she wanted!

When we got home my family had the honor and privilege of experiencing my friend Phi. That’s right, you don’t meet Phi, so much as you experience her. They were delighted with her goofiness and fun loving nature – the same reasons we are such good friends. Where I am rough around the edges, Phi is soft, and we balance one another out well.  We had a lazy morning and headed for the festival around one.

At the festival, I quickly ditched my host family so that I may be uninhibited. Also, my host father was getting a little irritated with Phi and I for not speaking in Armenian, so it was time to part ways. We soon found another volunteer and he acted as our tour guide for a short time. Afterwards we walked around, taking in all of the sights: impromptu Hikakhan dancing (Armenian style), the President’s body guards and car but not the man himself, and all the free wine a wino like myself could dream of. There were cheeses to taste as well, but something about the hot sun and warm white wine made the cheese extremely unappealing.

Later on, Phi and I eventually made it out to the field where the rest of the volunteers had gathered. I really have no idea who originally found this place, but it is was key. We had all the freedom to be our most ridiculous selves, and ya’ll know I took full advantage of this.  The last couple of times I have spoken with friends or family back home, I’ve tried to explain the nature of these get-togethers. I know for me, one of my most regular and needed releases is unavailable to me in my daily life. What is this, you ask? Busting chops. Good lord. I don’t think I really understood how much this was a part of my personality. Even if I knew how to bust chops in Armenian, it wouldn’t exactly be appropriate. Essentially, all of this pent up sarcasm is near boiling over by the time I am with other Americans. And man, do I let loose. As someone whose life has been characterized by being, how shall I say this, a little odd – being ‘proper’ and ‘appropriate’ is seriously exhausting for me.  I can only speak for myself, but I think this is true for everyone to varying degrees. Alas, the get-togethers.

Over the weekend I took a lot of pictures, did cartwheels and yoga as the sun set over the mountains, conversed with a good amount of people and in general had a really good time. In the past, my summers have had at least a few occasions similar to the wine festival, so being able to get one last lick in before the cold weather comes was absolutely worth the bad cold.

Sky's The Limit

As promised, I am posting off of my usual schedule. How exciting! 

You must excuse my recent theatrical, dramatic, I don't really know what, tone of writing. I have been reading Tom Robbins, again. Typically, when I am overindulging myself within the pages of an author with a very unique style of writing, I find my own writing (or 'voice') heavily influenced. You can see similar behavior in earlier postings, but at the time I was a Game of Thrones junkie, so I was using terms like 'small clothes' in regards to those silky undergarments scarcely to be found amongst my belongings.

Anywho, I finally had the opportunity to speak with the volunteer whom was here in Malishka from August of 2010 until April of 2012. He passed along some very pertinent information as I stood outside the school and six 11th grade boys stood around trying to look tough. I was so glad to get feedback from him about everything here. It's a funny thing to have never met a person, but be (somewhat) standing in their exact shoes, two years later and get to talk it over. I hear so much about him from community members and my counterpart, that after talking to him for an hour, I feel like we are close friends.

If you remember from my last post, I have been a little under the weather this week. I woke up last Wednesday feeling like poop and then on Thursday morning, just plain old shit. I was Zicaming and Emergencying all day long and after another day of rest on Friday, felt ok to go to our make-up day of school on Saturday. Yes- that's right; when there is a holiday on a Monday, school is held on a Saturday. The children are also allowed to run, scream and play in the hallways in between classes for five minutes. (This probably the reason why they are all so well behaved afterwards). As I was SAYINNNGG, I have been ridden with mucus coming out of every possible pore for about a week now. Unfortunately for me, Armenians consider blowing your nose in public akin to dropping your pants and popping a squat in the great wide open for all to see your goodies. All week, I've had to retire to my bedroom, the bathroom, or just somewhere away from others to honk the nasal horn. It's a real pain in my ass.

This past Sunday was the twin girls' 15th birthday. In the afternoon, their classmates came over to awkwardly giggle, blush and smile at one another until the 12 of them killed a bottle of red wine. And then, well, after that things got pretty wild. I decided to write letters in the meantime. I finally RECEIVED my letter from my college buddy, Sean. He's quite the character and I admire him for his complete lack of f-giving. I also received a package from my dear mother. I had asked her to please include some peanut butter M&M's as they are unavailable here. She swore they would melt and I bet her $50 they would not. She owes me. I nightly enjoy slowly sucking them down to their tasty peanut buttery insides as I watch episodes of True Blood and squeal in my nightgown inside the sleeping bag my brother Philip bought me two years ago when I was in the application process.

In the evening, the rest of the family came over for round two of the birthday party. There was much dancing and very loud music until about 2am (on a Sunday, mind you). I went to bed around 11pm and I suppose Siranush wanted to make sure that I wasn't mad about all the noise. Now, I have been sleeping on the floor since I moved here. The bed is more a less a hammock made out of springs from World War II. Nightly, I pull off the makeshift mattress, covers and such, and sleep. It doesn't bother me a bit, so I didn't feel this was something I needed to share with Siranush. In the beginning, I would be so anxious that someone might come in and find me! I haven't been thinking of it often, as I know now that the family respects the closed door. If the door is closed, it means don't bother me, or knock to make sure I don't mind you bothering me. Anyway, Siranush knocked and simultaneously opened the door. I felt like I'd been caught doing... something, with how guilty I felt. She played it real cool though and only finally addressed it today. She simply told me they would fix the bed to be more supportive.

And that, my loves, is why I am staying here for the winter.


Quote Of The Week: "Maybe, if they keep me teaching the brats, I will - I dunno, kill somebody." Anonymous 50+ y.o. 

Song Of The Week: Norah Jones - Travelin' On

Holistic Doctors in Malishka! Say WHAA?!?

Sorry for the delay between postings, folks. I know you have all been anxiously awaiting some new tale from the world of yours truly. I imagine when you see this posted into the FB feed that you will feel your heart rate quicken and a stirring in your belly similar to that of when you were on the precipice of your first kiss.

Last week there were two Armenian holidays, so including my off-day on Thursday, I only had two days of school. One of those days, my program manager came to visit. She met with my Principal (or Director), myself and my counterpart. Interestingly, as I met her at the school's front steps and we entered the school, she informed me that it is a direct insult to the Principal if upon her immediate arrival she did not go see him first. He had only wonderful things to say about me, that I show up for meetings I don't understand, that I understand more Armenian than the volunteer before me and that I am 'cheerful'. It's uncommon here in Armenia to smile at others for something unwarranted. Most people are typically frowning or neutral when greeting one another. This is because they regard smiling as foolish or childish, and they want to be taken seriously. This is also the thinking behind their mean mugs in photographs, no matter how exciting an occasion.

I am not sure what the exact details are behind the holiday on Monday, but I tagged along with my family to the village church. There we each lit three candles, admired the grounds which over look the ruins of the original Malishka. Afterwards, we headed to the first graveyard where Siranush's father is buried. I hadn't realized that he only passed away two years ago, which is really no time at all when you are close to a person. As she approached the tombstone she greeted him, "Barev, Pop" (Hi, Dad). Her husband Samvell prepared a small little fire in the appropriated silver bowl behind the gravestone as Siranush and the twins cleaned the tombstone and surrounding area. They wiped the stone down, pulled out weeds and burned incense in the fire when the area was ready. They didn't say much throughout the process, but it was certainly emotionally intense. There were many other families in the graveyard doing the same thing.  We went to a second graveyard for another family member but it wasn't quite as emotional.

Afterwards, we went to the home of the two residing holistic doctors here in Malishka. They live on the side of the mountain overlooking the rest of the village. They have an amazing view and home. The wife is Russian and the husband looks like Santa Claus. They were very cool people. I even got an energy balancing treatment while I was there! It was so awesome to know that I have access to holistic treatments while I am here. The Russian wife is trained in Tibetan understands of health and medicine, and I am not too sure about the husband. They are the godparents of Siranush, and I am welcome there for free treatments at any time.

Last Friday was the 21st Anniversary of Armenia's Independence Day. Oddly, no one did much of anything at all. We went to go see Samvell's parents who reside in this tiny little shack in the mountains during the summer months. It's a place that looks like somewhere I THOUGHT I would end up before I actually got here.

The next day I went to Yerevan to meet with the co-organizer of the National Poetry Contest that I am helping put together. After our meeting I went shopping with my friend Joy for some new shoes, but couldn't find anything that I liked and or fit me AGAIN. That night a big group of us went out to experience the nightlife of the capital. Things were... interesting. The entire night I kept thinking,"This is Peace Corps?" It's definitely weird to have vices available to me that I was hoping to not have the temptation of for two years. Oh, the irony!

I will post again over the weekend hopefully to fill in little awesome tidbits, but for now I am sick in bed with a bad a cold and want to close my eyes. I wrote only because I know how you've longed for a slice of my life!

"Sometimes, when I'm at home alone... I blow my nose." Joy Roberson

Song of the Week: Afro Celt Sound System: Listen to Me

Class Decorum

School is finally in full swing here in Malishka. Apparently though, the schedule could still potentially change up until September 15^th. There is a lot about my day-to-day life that reminds me of being in college (minus my extra curricular activities).  For instances, on Thursdays I don’t have class and my schedule is different everyday. Sometimes, I have a 3 hour break in between classes and if I don’t have a class until 3^rd period, I arrive for 3^rd period. At the moment, my busiest day is Monday, when I have five classes. Luckily though, on that day, I do not also have my least preferably behaved class.

At the moment I am teaching 3^rd-12^th grade, with the exceptions of the 4^th,7^th, and 9^th grades. My school was recently renovated and does not have the same broken down old-soviet-times feel as that of other schools I have visited. The view of the mountains in some classrooms is just breathtaking. Interestingly enough, I have yet to catch any of my students (okay – maybe the 5^th graders) staring out the window daydreaming. I remember getting lost in the beauty of the field hockey field day after day in my high school.

Being on the other side of the classroom has opened my eyes to my not-so-awesome behavior back in the dizzle. I had the tendency to vacillating between daydreaming, messing around with peers and actively participating in class. I guess I thought, because I did well and was (mostly) prepared for class, that I could get away with the bullshit. Well, I know now, that it doesn’t make a difference. No matter how well a student does, being disruptive in the classroom is THE most frustrating thing on the planet. It’s even more frustrating when you realize that you have no power or authority to control the behavior.

Just a glimpse of some of the ridiculous shit I would pull in high school: In 9^th or 10^th grade I had this history teacher whom had travelled the world and taken a lot of photographs. Her lessons consisted of 5 page outlines and a slideshow. It bored the shit out of me, so I employed my friend that sat behind me to play with my hair for the hour. I would actually lay my head backwards and take a nap during this woman’s class. It happened nearly every class and for some reason she left it fly. One day we had a substitute, so I went about my business and I remember this guy being so annoyed; especially since I acted like it was my god given right to have my hair played with during that hour.  Jesus…

Anyway, in my village’s school there are a lot of grandmother-grandchild, parent–child relations. As you can imagine, it doesn’t help the behavioral problems. It is also very uncommon to fail a student, or for a student to repeat a grade. I am not positive, but I doubt that there is one person in that school not heavily interwoven within the fabric of the community. It would shame a family if a student was to fail, and it would hurt the relationship if a teacher failed a student. The students are obviously aware of this and, aware of the fact that at the end of the day, they truly can treat me however they want and it will not affect the outcome of their grades. It's something that I am trying to figure out... and will later become a talking point in interviews.

Next week my program manager is coming for a visit and I look forward to discussing some frustrations with her. In the meantime, I continue my routines of writing, yoga and running (though it's been more difficult to center around the school schedule). I will start up my clubs in October and am looking forward to the Wine Festival in three weeks or so.


Weekly quote: "You let her eat our cookies, THE COOKIES?!?!" - Yours Truly

In the Beginning...

Hey gang,

Sorry for the lapse between blog postings. I have been busy getting ready for school to begin and, with it’s actual beginning! And lordy lord, am I glad to finally get the ball rolling.

Here in Armenia, Sept. 1^st is considered a holiday. No matter what day of the week it is, students and teachers alike show up in their Sunday best to congratulate one another on the start of the new school year. Every school differs in their actual celebration of Sept. 1^st, but my school had a small awards ceremony to recognize student’s efforts from the year before. The event was held on the steps of the school, with the teachers standing behind the Director as he spoke and the students and parents watching from down below. (For some odd reason, it felt sort of like the opening scene of Hunger Games).  Once the Director was finished the students, overwhelmed with joy, ran into the school.

Afterwards a great majority of the staff gathered in the teacher’s lounge to sit around and shoot the shit about the upcoming year until the marshutni came, about two hours later. There was no teaching, no talk of schedules… it was interesting to say the least. I joined about 10 other teachers for a mini celebration complete with pizza and coffee at the café in Yeg., where I am normally throwing back beers with my site mates. It felt a little odd, but one of the things that I am getting pretty good at here is simply sitting back and going with the flow. For some of my acquaintances that might seem a little odd, that Carolyn Rodgers needs to learn how to go with the flow - but being here has opened my eyes to the fact of a certain little factor that assisted in my general 'go with the flow' attitude. I do not have access to it here and well, it has certainly changed things for me. One of the things that the Peace Corps application always talked about was flexibility. Now, it has come to take on a very, very different meaning.  Sometimes, that means getting over the union of your personal and professional life.

Monday was the first legitimate day of school, with bells and classes and everything. My counterpart had decided that I would be the focus of the day, which I was unaware of until after the first bell. Just a quick re-cap: In the Peace Corps Armenia TEFL program, PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) are paired with HCNs (Host Country Nationals) for two years in an collaborative effort to further develop the English skills of students and community members alike. I am to be working in conjunction with my ‘counterpart’ in the classroom, on a daily basis. I had previously thought it might be to my advantage that she had just spent the last two years with a different volunteer. This hypothesis remains unproved.

I am doing my best to reserve judgment and be open-minded. Yet, it has proven very difficult in the face of my day-to-day reality. I’m sure I have said it, maybe not on here – but definitely to friends and family- that while I am in an amazing post; one where I have daily access to internet, running water, the food groups I am accustomed to, and a taste of western life should I choose a 3 hour drive away – there is still much that is challenging about being here. I always need to remind myself to never forget why I choose to come here: to be challenged and to experience the sort of growth that can not take place back home inside the box.

So, you could say that I’m getting what I asked for.

 “So, you mean, I bucket bathed for this?” Jesse ‘Ger-a-lee-eh’ Garrison

This Is How We Do It

Hey Hey Hey

Things have finally picked up a bit here in Malishka. This past week, I went to the school with Siranush (new h.most) to ‘go and see what’s up’. Essentially, teachers went back to school this week to see one another and get their classrooms organized. I joined Siranush two different times for the two-hour visit to the school.

I got in touch with my counterpart on Sunday but have not heard from her since. I’ve decided that, either I will see her there and it will be awkward, or I won’t and I have an opportunity to look through the resources left behind for me from the previous volunteer without any distractions. It has ended up being the latter, for which I was grateful. I was also given a key to the room, which is even more exciting. Now, I will be able to access the room without having to go through several different people.

I also had a meeting with the five other volunteers in my area to discuss safety and security issues with our go-to-guy, Vahagn. He’s THE most popular member of the Peace Corps Staff in Armenia. He’s more or less a living legend: the women want to be with him (he even gives the lesbians a tingle!) and the men want to be him. It could be the baby blues, it could be the beer gut, it could be his somewhat dark sense of humor, or it just might be the fact that he went to a Jimmy Buffet concert this summer.  No one can really explain this phenomenon, it is simply accepted.  In the meeting I thought it myself, “ Well, when the A-bomb hits, we’re definitely making it out of Armenia.” Just to make you jealous: If need be – we have access to a helicopter airlift. It’s these things that put to me sleep with a big ‘ole grin on my face.

The rest of the week has been spent integrating with my family, or as the Armenians call it, ‘hor-o-vatz-ing’. Everyone (and by everyone, I mean the women) rush around the house gathering everything together: the water, the meat, the utensils, the blankets, the coffee and coffee cups, the freshly gathered vegetables, the candy, and of course the bread! The little children run around giddy with excitement, and the men sit smoking cigarettes waiting to chauffeur everybody down to the river.

It’s really nice to be a part of this big family. There are nine grandchildren between the ages of fifteen and three. The baby girl, Gohares, is so dang cute and utterly fearless! The grandchildren belong to my amazing new Tatik I wrote about last post. My host mom has two brothers, one older and one younger. One is the father of five and the other of four. It’s difficult to describe what it’s like becoming a part of this family. I had something similar growing up and at times it feels very surreal to be on the other side of the world, with a once alien language being spoken, chicken and fish smoking over a fire, with Tatik’s arm around my waist as she points her fields out to me.

As we sat and looked out on her lands, the river rushing past us, she asks me if I want the same for myself...the family, the grandchildren. I get this a lot, so I respond with my autopilot response of, “Yea, maybe - one day”. She continues searching deep into my eyes the way she always does and says, “Two children for you, one boy and one girl, I have seen it.”  I hope that when the day comes, I will be sending her pictures of this possibly right or wrong prediction.

One week left before school starts and two weeks until all my friends and I get back together for a weekend at Lake Sevan. This past week I downloaded the most absurd mixture of songs from 1995. I cannot wait to bump ‘This Is How We Do It” with an Armenian backdrop and a bunch of weirdos from America. 

I am going to start a new tradition. Just like back home, but maybe more so, my friends and I have catalog of absurd quotes that we recite to one another. Most of them are going to be completely out of context and misunderstood. But for my PC friends and maybe your entertainment too, I am going to start ending my posts with hilarious quotes. Thank your for your attention.

“I have been there on my personal vehicle several times, it is okay…” Vahagn 

Week 1 in Malishka

As most of my darling readers will have already known, I got sick the night before I was meant to depart for my permanent site. It’s taking my body a little while to fully adjust and acclimate to being here. I am totally exhausted by the end of each day and I’m not doing very much, but…

In short, everything is great here. My new host family is definitely a different flavor of Armenian than the last, but in a good way. I’m almost certain they come from a longer line of edumakated folk. (I don’t know why I wrote it that way but that’s what was in my head, so like, deal with it). They have a piano; on which one of the twin sisters was playing My Heart Will Go On the other day during my daily afternoon yoga session. Armenians f-ing love Celine Dion and in particular, that song. I have yet to meet a young Armenian girl who didn’t know the chorus by heart.

In my last host family, there was no residing Tatik or Papik (Grandma or Grandpa). Typically these folks just putt around the house doing whatever extent of housework they can manage. In this house, they call him Poppy (which is what we were trying to get my niece Soleil to call my father, but she went with Tim instead). Poppy messes around in the garden for an hour or two in the mornings in his Adidas sport pants pulled up to his ears, ripping cigarettes. He really digs watching the T.V. and has an impressive ability to hear. I actually saw him turn the volume down the other day.  I guess Poppy’s room is too stuffy at the moment, because he’s been sleeping on the old bed outside the house. It sort of reminds me of Grigor, who would sleep in the kidnapper van…

Anyway, Poppy fucking hates the cat that hangs around here. He yells at it the moment one of its paws hits the inside of the house. It’s a tiger cat (for my close friends and family, he looks just like Darryl Strawberry) and Poppy calls him the equivalent of ‘ginger’ in Russian, when telling him to scram. A few mornings ago, I was internet-ing while Poppy was screwing around in the garden and my little buddy was twirling around my feet, eating up the attention and the fact that he was in the forbidden zone! After a little while, he was pooped from the excitement of it all and laid down for a nap on the carpet a couple of feet away from where I was sitting.  Poppy came in, kitty doesn’t move, and so Poppy shuffles over to him, winds up and gives kitty a swift ‘ole kick in the ass. It’s really not funny, but it sort of is, in that ‘oh, old people’ way. Come to think of it, most of Poppy’s words per day are directed at the cat.

I also have acquired a new Tatik since moving to Malishka. Unfortunately, she doesn’t live with us, as she is the mother of Siranush (new host mom). Here in Armenia, when a couple marries, the wife moves in with the husband’s family and then they live out the rest of their days. Sometimes though, if you have more than one son, the older son is allowed to move out on his own – I think. Anyway, this lady is really amazing. When I first came for my site visit at the end of June she, above everyone else, made me feel welcome and relaxed. There is something about the way she peers into my eyes that makes me feel at home. It’s difficult to explain, but for example, she was asking me whether or not I call home to talk to my mom. I said that I did, but only once a week because, once we talk I miss her more. As she was getting ready to leave, she gave me a big hug and said, “Don’t miss your mother, I am your mom now”.

Two days ago, I was walking home alone from the post office in the middle of the afternoon and I hear someone call out my name. I turn to look and who is it, but Tatik! She yelled for me to wait for her, as she was a little way down the block. I’m not exactly sure how old she is, but she moves around pretty good for a woman her age. Anyway, we walk and talk, she asks me where I’m coming from and is totally surprised that I can remember the way home. As we near her house she invites me over (well really, commands me). I know that this means coffee, fresh fruit and cakes, so obviously, I agreed.

Once at her house, she shouts for her daughter-in-law to entertain me while she washes up quickly. Soon coffee is ready, and Tatik returns from her garden with fresh grapes, peaches, apples and hazelnuts.  She then tells me to follow her into the back room, where she wants me to try on some of her other daughter-in-law’s clothes. She picked out a navy blue polka-dotted full-length dress. Coincidentally, I left a dress back home with the identical pattern. After trying it on, she took some measurements and started to tailor the dress for me. An hour or so later, we walked back to Siranush’s house together, dress and all. She was very proud of her work, and rightfully so, the dress does look good on me. Of course, I had to give a mini fashion show for the twins and Siranush, while Tatik beamed proudly at me.

That was not the end of my day, but I will save the other part of that afternoon for a different post.

I hope you are all happy, healthy and enjoying the wind-down of the summer season!