my texan mother in armenia

Most of the past week I think I’ll save for my novel/memoir/perpetually-put-off-piece-of-literature.  That is both a artistic decision, and a way of avoiding the impossibility of putting into words this past week with me, Mom, and Armenia. But, despite the length, consider this a taste. I saw her at first down the hallway, behind the glass partition, my mother looking much skinnier, a little lost, and washed over with anticipation.  She saw me jumping up above the crowd, waving one arm and holding a bouquet of flowers in the other, this little collection of green, white and lavender, a message…

shnor havor

Today is the first day of September.  Remembering this, I woke up early, ate a bowl of cornflakes and went with camera in hand to congratulate my Armenian landsister on her first day of school.  I had missed her and goofily said, “Shnor havor,” to my landdad as a consolation for missing his daughter’s departure. It should be noted that Armenians congratulate each other for everything. At work I was shnor-havored by my friend Liana because today is Knowledge Day (don’t I feel smarter now!) and shnor-havored by my friend Armen because today is recognized as the first day of…

the one that got away

I have regrettable news to relate, but next to the people I see on the street everyday, you are the one(s) who keep(s) up with the Chicken.  But don’t worry, she didn’t die. She moved.  That’s right, we got a divorce.  Me and Spring Chicken are no longer together.  It was an amiable split, I think.  She’d long ago stopped smearing her poop on me.  We were getting along really well in fact.  It was the neighbors who ultimately prompted the final severance.  For months they’ve been calling my landdad, telling him that their baby can’t sleep because my dog…

in five days

In the last five days I have: -Hosted an American-Armenian friend whose language skills betray the second part of the title but who’s dinosaur shirt and blue tights screamed the first. -With said friend*, munched gobs of fresh fruit in the crumbling form of an old bathhouse at the 1000 year-old ruins just outside of town. -*Commited to hitching back from said ruins.  Surprised at the first takers: a couple bouncing along in their horse and buggy.  The metal shell of the the buggy had clearly held manure not too long ago.  But what’s a little manure between friends? -*Made…

bill nye for adults, daisies, more puppy photos, etc.

You know when you email someone you haven’t seen in a while, and you have one million things to say.  You end up writing something that sounds so disjointed but filled with all the things you would try to bring up in conversation when you saw them.  This is one of those kinds of emails, to you. 1. The Clooker should NOT hack up a lougie in front of my window. So we’re clear. 2. I just read/listened to this interview done by an Armenian newsite with one of my fellow PCV’s. It’s wonderful and makes me wonder what I…