TICK-TOCK TICK-TOCK TIMES UP

A long long time ago, when I was still reading fairy tales, this one story made such an impression on me that I still remember it. My memory is not as good as it used to be, so if I remember correctly either a step mother or an old witch would lock this girl up in a dark room and give her a large coil of different color yarn and told her to untangle them by color. I have always thought that would be the worst torture or punishment for anyone let alone a little girl.  

Well, this is how I feel about my life sometimes, actually all the time.  I feel I’m holding hundreds of balloons in my hand and I need to keep them but its very difficult to hold on to all of them without letting go of some. I never know which ones I should keep. Should I chose green or the red one? Like someone untrained to defuse a bomb, who isn’t sure which wire to pull, the blue or the red?  I don’t know why I feel this way but I do. Sometimes I feel like my body is being pulled in different directions and its disorienting and painful.  Sometimes I think it has to do with being a woman. Most women could be, at the same time a wife, a mother, a daughter, a daughter in law, a sister, a grandmother, a friend , a nurse, a physiologist, an accountant, a manager,  a cooke  or a  maid.  Think about it, this is how most women's lives are. I’m not talking about balancing a home life and a career, I am talking about having to change your hat three thousand times a day. Well,  maybe not three thousand times but 10 times but it’s still very difficult. 

While joggling  all these roles a woman must also look good, be healthy, be athletic, be engaged, be informed, be able to talk about art and politics.  Yes I know some women can do this with their eyes closed while balancing on one foot and texting, but not me.  

For me, all my roles are important, all the people who are dependent on me are important, keeping a household running in good order is important, being healthy is important, being a good mother and grand mother is important, my self expression is important. But all of these things take time and time is running out tick-tock tick-tock.  And one day you become aware you’r done, you did all you could but the sense of satisfaction is not there, you feel that you failed but it’s too late to go back and fix things.  After living a life of uncertainty and doubt things are clear as to what’s important and what’s not but alas it's too late.  

Random Memories of My Childhood

My Grandfather Yeprem Amirian


Two minutes ago I thought it a splendid idea to write down some of my childhood memories and immediately I thought what for? Or who cares? I don’t know, maybe I do and maybe I want to write them down before I forget them completely. I don’t dwell on the past or want to revisit the events it’s just bitter sweet to think of them sometimes.

My paternal grandfather died before I was 4 years old and my younger brother wasn’t born yet so I don’t remember him much I only have this one memory. 

I opened the door and stood there in the beam of light, I didn’t go towards where my grandfather was sitting behind a low square table covered with  thick blankets.  I don’t remember being scared, I don’t remember why I had gone to his room maybe I had just stumbled upon his door by mistake. He was just sitting there staring into the void. He didn’t call out to me so I just left. He was a slightly bald white haired man with a kind face. We have a photo of him smiling with twinkling eyes and thats how I remember him.  My older sisters have lots of fond memories of him. They told me that returning from the market he would bring them fresh fruits and he always had nuts and raisins in his coat pockets and would give it to them when asked.  He lived with us most of his life and I was told my mom loved him and took good care of him. I have heard from family that he lived to be 106 years old. After his death my little brother was born and as custom he was named after my grandfather, Yeprem.  To this day my younger brother is called babik meaning grandpa in Armenian.

Before I started preschool I spent my days home with my mom. If she was cooking I would be with her in the kitchen, I would go with her to the market for groceries.  She would even take me to see her friends for coffee.  When I was little and I  would get sick I really believed just by staying home and having my mom’s chicken soup got me all better.  I also remember that if we had something more than a simple cold she would take us to the family doctor.  Back then it seams for every ailment there was a shot and like most kids I hated them but with mom it was oaky.  I remember in elementary school every September she would make me a new school uniform and crotchet a beautiful white color and a little handkerchief.  She also made knitted swathers for me and my sisters every winter. I remember two that I liked very much, a light blue one and one that was the color of spaghetti. She was an awesome mom.

I don’t know why but I have more memories of my father. Maybe because for me he was larger than life, maybe because he was away so much that I always missed him, maybe because he was so kind or because he loved books and was always reading.  As soon as summer would start and I could read books with no interruptions or worries about homework, I would ask for his recommendations on books I should read and he was more than happy to comply.  Sometimes he would take us on the of spur of the moment to short trips and in the car we would sing for him all the songs we knew. When I started to wear makeup if he noticed, he would tell me that I was beautiful even with no make up on. That is something all girls need to hear from their father.  He would bring all of us gifts, candy and fruits of the season by the crate when he came home from his trips and that made us very happy.  My dad loved people and he would bring guests home coming from work and surprise and anger my mom because she would have to scramble to make more food.  Once when a delegation of a youth group came to visit our town he invited all 150 of them to our house impromptu.  He asked my mom to serve cheese and bread and he brought out jugs of home made wine. Naturally we all had a blast.  

I have many many recollections of my 7 sisters and 2 brothers, celebrations, fights, dates, parties, a life time of memories that would make a large volume, maybe another time. 

A Mother's Day Nightmare

 Last night before falling sleep I was reading a historical novel about ancient Rome. In the story a nobleman was going to feed his slave to blood sucking lampreys because he had broken a valuable goblet.  Maybe because under that unpleasant image I had a very disturbing dream. My dreams are often movie like.

     In this one a hospital was besieged by a terrorist group. The electricity was cut off. Anyone coming to our aid or going out of the hospital would get killed.  At some point a nurse, a few doctors, and some security guards decided to go out together and disarm the terrorists. In the total darkness we couldn't see outside, we only heard loud voices and gun shots. Finally a gurney was pushed inside the doors and on it a bloody body.  Whoever it was started talking telling us what was wrong with him. It turned out that it was one of the doctors.  He was rushed to the operating room. We found one of the security guards, he had a sex change operation done and was bleeding heavily and about to die. The nurse came in walking, in no better shape then the previous victims.

     It seems this whole time I had been sobbing hysterically and my husband would try to wake me up to stop me from crying.  I would wake up feeling very sad and fall sleep again to continue the nightmare. I have no idea why I have such dreams nor can I interpret them in any way, I wish I could. Finally I woke up and today being Mother's Day my husband treated me to breakfast in bed,  a cup of strong coffee and my favorite pastry.  I had a headache from my restless night so I tried to sleep again.

     This time I dreamt it was my wedding day. Everyone was at the reception sitting around big round tables having a sumptuous brunch, everyone but me that is. I couldn't find my wedding dress.  I actually did't have a wedding dress. I remembered ordering one but I didn't remember ever going for fittings. I couldn't find the dress maker's name or the phone number.  My mother was blaming me saying I didn't care for anything as important as my wedding. I was crying again in my dream.

     I woke up and decided I had enough for one day. I thought I would treat myself to reading a short story in the New Yorker.  But then I got bored and I thought I should indulge in my loved pastime, shopping.

     When I got up to get ready, I noticed the pile of laundry waiting to be done, the unmade beds, the dogs, the floors, the plants and flowers the needed watering.  Last week I was too busy doing things to please others so I hadn't had time to do my own work. The guilt that I always feel if I don't include my daughter in my outings which I never do. I decided against going out. You see I'm still a mother, Mother's Day or not. Other people's needs always come first. No I'm not a saint, nor do I want to glorify myself or put mothers on a pedestal. It's just thats how I am and I know a lot of mothers who are just as bad as I.

"HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY TO ALL MOTHERS ON EARTH"