2010

Ահաւասիկ:  Թէ վերագաղ Երկու Հազար Տասը թւի եւ թէ էնֆորմացիա առ որ անկ է:

Յունուար:  Արիզոնա եկայ տեսնելու թէ կրնա՞մ ես հոս ապրիլ:  Որոշեցի այո՛: Քալիֆորնիայի մօտ ըլլալն ալ օգնեց վերջնական որոշում առնելու անմիջապէս փոխադրուելու հոս:  

Փետրուար:  Իմ առաջին երգախտասալը, Sandplay, լոյս տեսաւ:

Մարտ:  Տես` Տուփերու Մէջ, հոս գրուած:

Ապրիլ:  Փոխադրուեցայ Արիզոնա:

Մայիս:  Շատ աղուոր է հոս:

Յունիս:  Գործ բնտռեցի:

Յուլիս:  Քալիֆորնիա քացի այցելութեան:

Օգոստոս:  Անձնական կեանք ունեցայ:

Սեպտեմբեր:  Հ.Մ.Ը.Մ.ի պարահանդէսին հրաւիրուեցայ:  Չ՛ուզեցի երթալ որովհետեւ հրաւիրողը իմ նոր սկսած գործի տնօրէնն էր եւ ինծի համար Հ.Մ.Ը.Մ.ը սրտի շատ մօտիկ էր բայց ահա որոշեցին որ պէտք է երգեմ այդ օրը, քոնէ մի քանի երգ որ գաղութը «վայելէ» զիս, «ճանչնայ» զիս:  Բոլոր փողոքներս ապարթիւն անցան:  Երգեցի մի քանի երգ միայն:  Կարծեմ այդ մասին ալ գրած եմ հոս:  Մի քանի շաբաթ տեւեց միայն այդ ապրուստ շահելու ձեւը:

Հոկտեմբեր:  Հայերէնի դաս տուի Կիրակի առտուները Սուրբ Աբգար Եկեղեցիի Կիրակնօրեայի աշակերտներէն անոնց որոնք կ՛ուզէին Արեւմտահայերէն սորվիլ:
Չէին ուզեր, այդ ուրիշ հարց է:  Իրենք իրարու հետ կ՛ուզէին խաղալ, խօսիլ, խնդալ:  Գիտեմ, մենք ալ անանկ էինք:  Անոր համար թէ՛ կ՛ըզգամ հետերնին եւ թէ՛ կ՛ուզեմ Հայերէնի հանդէպ իմ սէրը բաժնել իրենց հետ:
                      Խաչիկ Դաշտենցի Ծննդեան Հարիւրամեակի ձեռնարկին կարդացի Փրափիոն Ծաղիկը եւ Այբենգիմէն պզտիկ կտոր մը ներկայացուցի:
                      Որովհետեւ Շահան Նաթալիի աղջիկը, հիմա անունը չեմ յիշեր, որ Քալիֆորնիայէն պիտի քար Կար ու Չկար յայտագրին մաս կազմելու, Հայկական հեքեաթ պատմելով Halloweenին, չի կրնար քալ, Տէր Հայրը ինծմէ խնդրեց այդ դերը ես կատարեմ:  Աւելի ճիշդ ըսաւ «ինծի պիտի օգնես»:  Ես ալ կեանքիս մէջ առաջին անգամ ըլլալով հեքեաթ պատմեցի:  Անգլերէն լեզուով:  Յովհաննէս Թումանեանի Քաջ Նազարը:  Շատ մեծ հաճոյքով:

Նոյեմբեր:  Ըստ օրէնքի, Նոյեմբերին, մեր եկեղեցին ալ իր տօնախմբութեան օրերը ունի:  Նոյեմբերի Վեցը եւ Եօթը այդ օրերն էին:  Ինծմէ խնդրուեցաւ երգել:  Երգեցի երկու օր ետեւ ետեւի, երկար յայտագրով եւ քէյֆ ըրի, կարօտս առի, ինքզինքս գտայ, որդերս թափեցի ինչպէս կ՛ըսեն, ու պարեցի:  Չէ՞ որ տօն էր:

Դեկտեմբեր:  Yerevan Nights - Երեւանի Գիշերները տօնուեցաւ Եկեղեցիին բակէն սկսեալ մինջեւ Մելիքեան Սրահ ուր բոլոր գաղութի ձեռնարկները տեղի կ՛ունենան:  Բացի Սեպտեմբերի Փիքնիքէն:   Խոռովածի եւ Քէպապներու տեսակներ կը դիմաւորէին մեզ:  Խաշ ալ կար:  Այո՛, խաշ:  Սեղաններուն վրայ appetizerներ եւ, նորէն երգեցի:   Այս անգամ երբ բեմ ելայ, բարձրախօսը առի եւ «այս աղջիկը նորէն պիտի երգէ» ըսի:  Եւ երգեցի:  Նորէն:
                       Մանթիի մրցում կար կազմակերպուած Դպրոցին կողմէ:  Ես ալ մասնակցեցայ որովհետեւ յիշեցի որ խօսք տուած էի ամիսներ առաջ:  Ամէնէն Unusual Style category-ին մէջ հաղթական ելայ:
                       Դպրոցի Christmasի հանդէսը ըրինք:  Ամերիկահայկական ձեւով:  Իմ աշակերտներս արտասանեցին Բարեւ Նոր Տարին:  Հատիկ, հատիկ, մէկ տող առ մէկ տող:  Կէսը լաւ, կէսը վատ:  Աւելի ճիշդ երեք քառորդը լաւ:
                       Անցեալ կիրակի ներկայացուցի iPen Keemը:  Քիչ մը բարեփոխուած իր անցեալի երեւոյթէն:  Սիրով:
                       Երէկ Bâtons Salés պատրաստեցի:

Երկու Հազար Տասը Եղաւ իմ անուշիկ խտասալիկիս տարին:  Իմ անձնական հաղթանակը:  Տարիներու աշխատանքիս արդիւնքը:  Բաւարարուած կ՛ըզգամ:

A very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you all.







 



                 

Կեդրոնանալ

Փոխանակ unrequited լաւ ապրելու, աւելի լաւ չէ՞ր ըլլար ապրիլ կարճ ժամանակուայ love մը որ երկողմանի է:

Չէ՛ կ՛ըսէ Սիլվա Կապուտիկեան գրեթէ իր բոլոր բանաստեղծութիւններուն մէջ:  Օրինակ իր Ես Եւ Դու -ին մէջ:

Թափառում ենք փողոցներում
Ես՝ քո սիրով, դու՝ ուրիշի,
Այրւում ենք մենք հրդեհներում
Ես՝ քո հրով, դու՝ ուրիշի:

Կարօտում ենք, խնդում, տխրում
Ես՝ քո խօսքով, դու՝ ուրիշի,
Սուզւում քա՜ղցր երազներում
Ես՝ քո տեսքով, դու՝ ուրիշի:

Է՜հ, ինչ արած, բախտը խռով
Թող աշխարհում մեզ չյիշի,
Միայն ապրենք մենք սիրելո՛վ՝
Թէկուզ ես՝ քե՜զ, դու՝ ուրիշի՛...

Bâtons Salés

Ca prend un chapeau la première lettre a ci-haut?
Qu'importe oui ou non, par une coincidence extraordinaire, cela, c'est à dire le chapeau, va très bien avec le baton.

Ան Սիլվեսթրին Տեսայ 2005ին

Շոքեկառքը գրեթէ տասերկու ժամ առաւ Նիու Եորքէն Մոնթրէալ հասնելու:  Բարեբաղդաբար նստարանս պատուհանին մօտ էր եւ լաւ մը դիտեցի վազող, փախչող տեսարանները:  Մոնթրէալ կ՛երթայի իմ նախասիրած երգչուհին լսելու:  Ֆրանսացի Ան Սիլվեսթրը:  Շատ քիչեր գիտեն իր մասին:  Նոյնիսկ Ֆրանսայի մէջ քիչ են զինք ճանչցողները:  Մօտ քառասուն տարի իր երգերը լսած, սորված եւ երգած եմ թէեւ միայն տան մէջ բայց եւ այնպէս շատ մը ընկերներ վարակած էի Ան Սիլվեսթրով:  Իսկ վաղը, Տիկին Անգինէին հետ պիտի երթայինք մտիկ ընելու այս հիմա եօթանասուն երկու տարեկան երգչուհին:  Տիկին Անգինէն առաջին անգամն էր պիտի լսէր զինք:  Իսկ ես առաջին անգամն էր զինք անձամբ պիտի տեսնէի, լսէի բեմին վրայ:

Հետս առած էի իր ձայնային սկաւառակը որ գնած էի այն օրը որ իմ առաջին ամսականը ստացայ Պէյրութի մէջ:  Գնած էի նայեւ Շարլ Ազնաւուրի մէկ սկաւառակը որ այլեւս մօտս չէ քանի փոխ առնուած էր ինծմէ տարիներ առաջ եւ աւաղ դեռ ետ չէ վերադարձուած:  Ան Սիլվեսթրի սկաւառակը դեռ ունիմ որովհետեւ կրնան մտնել եւ ամբողջ տունդ գողնալ բայց քանի որ չեն գիտեր թէ ան ով է, անոր սկաւառակը չեն տանիր: Այս մէկը իրաւ պատահեցաւ:

Հասաւ ժամը եւ Ան մտաւ բեմ:  Սկսաւ երգել եւ ես սկսայ արձունքներս զսպել յիշելով ուր լսեցի զինք առաջին անգամ, ինչ հոգեկան վիճակներ ունէի եւ ինչպէս զինք մտիկ ընելով կը մխիթարուէի եւ ուժ կ՛ըստանայի:  Իր երգերը ամէնէն աւելի երգուած գրականութիւն են:  Սրամիտ կամ տխուր, հաւատարիմ կամ տգեղ, դրացիին մասին թէ կիներու, մարդոց մասին թէ միասերականներու, խելացի մօտեցումով կը շոյեն իմ խելքը, կը մտածեն իմ տեղս եւ կ՛ընկերակցին իմ վիշտերուս: 

Նոր երգեր ալ երգեց:  Իրաքի պատերազմին առաջին տարին էր եւ արդէն Ան օրօր մը գրած էր այն երեխաներուն համար որոնք իրենց ժամանակէն առաջ ծնիլ պարտադրուած էին ռումբերու տեղալը չսկսած:  Տիկին Անգինէն շատ ազդուեցաւ որովհետեւ ինքն ալ Իրաքահայ է:

Իր հին երգերուն ընկերակցեցանք շատերս:  Ծափեցինք անընթհատ եւ ետ բեմ կանչեցինք զինք գրեթէ չորս անգամ:  Չմերժեց:  Բարձրախօսով յայտարարուեցաւ որ կարելի էր Անին տեսնել դուրսը եւ խօսիլ հետը:  Ելանք դուրս:  Շարք կար:  Սպասեցինք անհամբեր, ես գրկած իմ առաջին սկաւառակիս շապիկը որ ստորագրել տամ իսկ Տիկին Անգինէն երբ մեր կարքը հասաւ, չսպասեց:  Նետուեցաւ Անին վզին, արձունքախառն, «ես ալ Պաղտատէն եմ» ըսելով:  Մինջ իրենք լալաքին խնդուքներու ձայներ կը հանէին իրար գրկած, ես պէտք էր համբերէի նորէն:  Քառասուն տարի սպասողը մի քանի վարկեան ալ կրնայ սպասել մտածելով:  Հետոյ կացութիւնը բացատրեցի «խօսքը մեծին ջուրը պզտիկին»ը յիշելով եւ ումպ մը ջուր խմեցի ձեռքիս շիշէն: 

Ես կրնայի՞ մրցիլ այս գիրկնդխառնումին հետ:  Ամօթ էր նոյնիսկ փորձելը:  Ընդհակառակը այս մեծ տաղանդին առջեւ ես փոխադրուեցայ Պէյրութ, եղայ տասնըեօթ տարեկան:  Զգացի այն ատենուայ զգացումներս եւ այդ ատենուայ զսպուած արձունքներս սկսան հիմա հոսիլ, մաքրելով անցեալի նոսթալճիան, թաքուն մելամաղձոտութիւնը այդ ատենուայ: 

Անին ցոյց տուի իմ առաջին սկաւառակս եւ խնդրեցի որ ստորագրէ «Je m'apelle Arpie; sans H » .  « Ah oui. bien sûre » ըսաւ Ան:    Ապուշիկս Արփի, ըսի մտքես :  Այսինքն հիմա աս ըսելու ատէ՞նն էր:  Կը կարծես որ այս մեծ արուեստագիտուհին քեզի harpie՞ պիտի կարծէր:  Ստորագրեց:  «Pour Arpie, Amicalement, Anne»:

Տարի մը վերջ Անը նոր սկաւառակ մը հանեց, անունը՝ «bye mélanco»:

Schizo - From my Old Files of 2005

I am hitting the Tab button on my keyboard

So my car can stop at every stop sign

When going to work and coming back daily

I suddenly see one of the front tires

Rolling by itself ahead of my car

I immediately hit the Backspace button

But the tire alas does not come back to me

I then click on Find, type the word “tire”

Hit the Enter key and wait for results

The tire is by now nowhere to be found

I click on Open, get out of the car

I step on the screws spread on the pavement

I click Select All, they’re now together

Become the paper clip waiting for my command

They say “we’re hungry” and they wait for me

I lay down on the floor by the broken car

And feed them micros receiving their smiles

I jump in the car and click on Find again

The screws fly away, come back with the tire

They’re waiting for me, I’m waiting for them

A minute has passed when I realize

I could click “Replace”

To my great surprise the tire grudgingly

Hops on the axis, the determined screws

Speed up behind it, find their place and turn

Turn until a bell rings confirmation 

I click on the Go, the car starts rolling

I then click on Save and give it a name:

In My Dream I Can Change the Tire of my Car

Staying in the Present

The present from my window is a street in Phoenix, Arizona where cars pass by. I am on the ground floor and I see the cars passing through my window. The window has venetian blinds which, as you might have guessed, are open. There is a tree between the street and my window. In the room itself, there is this personal computer and a chair where I was seated with my body turned away from the computer and my neck turned towards the computer just before I adjusted my position or my attitude, pick one. That was a minute ago. I still feel a pull in my neck which needs further attention. Will be right back. I realized what the problem was and have corrected it. It is better than before but not ideal. I know what ideal is and thinking about it would send me either to the past or the future and I want to be in the present.

It was a fire truck that just passed going north. I am still in Phoenix, Arizona. I think it is a different kind of place here than anywhere else I have been. Today, after church, someone told me they are bored here. I have heard that word a lot lately.

The present got boring for a few minutes and that gave me a chance to want to stay in the present even more. Because boredom expects something that is not happening. To combat it, one must remember the passion, the gift, the present and the freedom.

There is a traffic light a few yards from my window and the countdown for the pedestrian crossing light can be heard at times very distinctly, other times not at all. I have not figured out why yet. It starts from ten and ends at zero with the screen showing the numbers followed by a green pedestrian walking. A green screen with the figure of someone taking a step forward. We have seen those in many cities but the numbers are a novelty for me.

Where is the gift in all this? I am writing. That's one gift. I can cry too. That's another gift. I can complain till morning. Is that a gift? It would be if I could complain in a literary way, like a woman of letters. The letters Ayp, Pen and Keem in my case. iPen Keem is the name of the show I will be giving on December 19, in Scottsdale, Arizona, in Armenian. From Ayp to Keem would be a good translation of the name. It will coincide with the official release of my CD Sandplay which contains songs from the show. One to be exact. The other songs on my CD are from my show Tayen Fe. That translates from the letter Ta to the letter Fe. But what are all these letters you will ask. These are the letters of the Armenian alphabet I would answer. Then you will say "oh, now I understand."

I did that without complaining. I will wait and complain during my show. Just for laughs. After all if you can't make them laugh, don't complain, you will end up boring everybody.

A man just rode his bicycle coughing and spitting loudly. I am complaining.

The moral of the story is that the present contains the past and the future. The gift is to know this. I like that. Do you?

Der Zor Diary: A Pilgrimage to the Killing Fields of the Armenian Genocide

I think my cousin (second) Lucine speaks for all of us Armenians in this brilliant compte-rendu of her trip to Der Zor this past August.



Der Zor Diary: A Pilgrimage to the Killing Fields of the Armenian Genocide

Puisque

Cela va prendre longtemps à tapper mais comme j'ai appris à tapper avec le clavier Français, cela ne sera pas si mal que ça. Tout d'abord il faut m'éxcuser les fautes d'ortographes flagrants que je vais faire mais ami perdu ami retrouvé est plus important que les fautes d'ortographes et puis il a promis (comprendre "menacé") de m'apprendre le français. Il a deja oublié les compliments qu'il me donnait, tel "tu parles tres bien le français" il y a plus que 20 ans de ça. Mais il se souvient des choses que moi j'ai oublié.

On s'est retrouvé puisqu'il m'a cherché. Je ne sais pas si moi j'aurai fait la meme chose. Peut être je l'avais déjà cherché. Je ne me souviens plus.

Et le revoila. Transformé.

Dans un bar/water hole à New York en 1974. Un homme s'approche et me dit que son ami qui est assis au bar en face de nous est timide mais voudrait faire ma connaissance. L'homme et moi on s'approche de lui et puis le revoila. On se connait aussi longtemps que ça.

Il est qui il est mais qu'il soit français, à part mes cousins-cousines en France, et le seul, en plus, que je connais, me donne sujet de réfléction. Pour qui chante-je les chansons en français? A présent, même les musiciens français chantent en anglais. Pour qui me prends-je?

"Who does she think she is" est un refrain que j'ai entendu plusieurs fois dans ses différentes incarnations. Si j'ai jamais cru que j'étais quelqu'un, je ne serai pas si romantique. La langue française est la langue de l'amour mais il y a des limites a ça aussi. Pas tout le monde qui parle français est romantique dans le sens que moi je comprends la romance. Je ne vais pas tomber amoureuse avec le premier venu qui parle français. Il se peut même que je ne voulasse pas parler du tout avec la personne.

Mais j'ai jamais eu ce choix luxurieux ou les gens qui parlent français s'étalent devant moi pour que je puisse choisir.

Toto, Lili, Rene et Titi sont toujours au jardin d'enfants, Hugo, Flaubert, Racine et Molière sont dans les bouquins et moi je me balade dans une robe que je viens d'acheter de Wallgreens pour $12 americaines. C'est faite en chine. Le 14 Juillet etait il y a deux jours.

Ceci dit, ça a été un plaisir inégalable que d'écrir en français. Comme il m'a dit l'autre jour: "Il faut voler plus bas."

Վերջապէս

Կը քնանայի կոր: Անգլերէն լեզուն քունս բերաւ: Քնացայ: Երազիս մէջ յիշեցի որ հայերէն գիտեմ: Արթնցայ: Թէ ինչպէս յիշեցի: Հայերէն Լեզուի Սրբագրիչ Բառարան անունով էջի մը կոճակը կայ այս էջին վերեւը եւ որը հազուագիւտ գործածած եմ: Եթէ հետաքրքրուած էք հայերէնի ուղղագրութեամբ հասցէն հետեւեալն է - http://nayiri.com/search?l=hy_LB: Ինչ լաւ աղջիկ եմ, չէ՞: Ստիպուած:



Քարթ մը ստացայ սիրելի ընկերուհիէ մը որուն իմ խտասալս ուղղարկած էի: Յետ Գրութեամբ կը տեղեկացնէր թէ տասնըհինգ տարուայ մէջ առաջին անգամն է որ հայերէն կը գրէր: Ուրախանայի՞ թէ տխրէի: Այս ընկերուհիս հայկական դպրոցը աւարտած է տարիներ առաջ: Ուրեմն որոշեցի ուրախանալ որովհետեւ եթէ մենակատարութիւններս գրած չ՛ըլլայի, նախ արեւելահայերէն «քիպորտ»ի վրայ եւ հետոյ արեւմտահայերէն, նոյն բանը պիտի ըսէի:

Երբ մօտիկ ընկերուհիներ կամաց կամաց հեռացան Պէյրութէն իրենց ընտանիքներով եւ հասան այս ափերը կամ Եւրոպա, նամակներ կ՛երթային կուգային էջերով: Մեր կարքն ալ եկաւ: Մենք ալ եկանք: Նորէն նամակներ սկսան երթալ քալ էջերով: Բոլորը հայերէն լեզուով գրուած: Պահած էի զանոնք եւ հետս պտտցուցած տունէ տուն, քաղաքէ քաղաք, երկիրէ երկիր: Չէի կրնար զանոնք թափել: Երբ հաստատեցի որ բոլոր անոնք որոնց ես տարիներ շարունակ նամակներ ղրկած էի, առանց վարանելու թափած էին այդ նամակները, ես ալ իրենցը թափեցի: Բայց մինջեւ որոշ թուական մը: Այդ թուականէն ասդին չեմ թափած ոչ մէկ նամակ որովհետեւ հետոյ երբ համակարքիչը մէջտեղ ելաւ նամակները սկսան տպագրուիլ փոխանակ ձեռքով գրուելու եւ աւելի նուազ տեղ կը գրաւեն պահուելու համար: Չեմ գիտեր եթէ իմ ղրկած նամակներս դեռ գոյութիւն ունին: Կարեւոր չէ: Կարեւորը այն է որ ձեռագիր եղողները թանկարժէք են ներկայիս: Ամէն մէկ հայերէն ձեռագիր գանձ մըն է այս օրերուս:

Իսկ ինչ ըսել Ֆրանսերէն լեզուին: Կիրակի օր, երբ Քալիֆորնիայէն նոր տուն հասայ, քիչ մը տխրած էի այնքան բարեկամներ ետեւ ձգելուս համար որոնց հետ չթր փթր Հայերէն խօսած էի օրերով եւ նկատած որ իրենցմէ ալ աւելի Անգլերէն բառերու օգնութեամբ կը խօսէի Հայերէնը: Երբ սենեակս մտայ, ուղղուեցայ շիտակ դէպի համակարքիչ: Հազիւ զայն բացի, միակ Ֆրանսացի ընկերս կը զանքէր «Սքայփ»էն: Մի քանի շաբաթ առաջ զիս վերագտած էր իմ կայքէջին միջոցաւ: Տասնըհինգ տարի է Ֆրանսերէն չէի խօսած: Ուրախութիւնս չափ ու սահման չ՛ունէր:

Յաջորդ օրը շուկայ քացի գնումներ ընելու եւ հանդիպեցայ Լիբանանցի Մայքին խանութը որ ծխածոտի տեսակներով, անուշահոտ իւղերով, մոմերով եւ Արկիլէներով լեցուն է: Իր հետ Արաբերէն կը խօսիմ: Այդ ալ նորութիւն է: Լիբանան ծնած եւ մեծցած՝ Ամերիկայ քալես ի վեր, առաջին առիթը կ՛ըստեղծուի Արաբերէն խօսելու:

Նկատած եմ որ այս երեք լեզուներու պարագային յաղորդակցութիւնը լեզուին հետ գրեթէ կապ չ՛ունի: Այսինքն, ինչպէս Արաբները կ՛ըսեն՝ - եւ եթէ թարգմանութիւնս ճիշդ է - թռելով կը հասկնայ կամ «պյըֆհամնի ՛աթթայէր»: Ուաթուաթ անանկ կ՛ըսէին, չեմ գիտեր:

Այո՛, այս տաք օրերուն կարելի է դիմանալ:

Visitor Counter Started in April 2010

I have not found a way to put the date next to the counter of visitors to my blog. But I find the 400 number encouraging. Let us say that 50 of those are my visits to my own blog, it is still substantial.

Thank you for reading folks. It makes me want to write better.

Hrammetsek (Welcome)

A couple of days ago, as I was lounging besides the lake in the backyard here and wondering how I can make a video of one of my songs from my lovely compact disc album called "Sandplay" to satisfy the curiosity and demands of some wonderful people who wanted to hear Hrammetsek in the Dikranagerd parpar, it occurred to me that since it is the song that matters, what the heck, I can shoot a video with my digital camera and then add my music to it. And so I did. It is on Facebook's Dikranagerdtsi Armenians' group page.



Believe it or not, the majority of my friends are not on Facebook, we communicate differently. Some read my blog but the majority doesn't. With some, it is only e-mails while others use the telephone, not to mention Skype, IMs, etc. So I have to click here and there, from one to the other in order to respond or originate a conversation or to just keep in touch and say "hello."



Short of a close friend within a 300 mile radius from Glendale not California but Arizona, I decided to use the video to show that I am doing ok without a friend in sight and to invite you for a visit. But don't come yet. This, is the PR Department.

End of School Year

What have I learned so far?

That even if the teachers did not have time to iron your costume but did have time to iron the costume of your partner for the song-and-dance you are about to do for the year end ceremonies of your kindergarden graduation, you have to make your entrance onto the stage, sing your part while trying to hold back hysterical laughter about the situation and exit dancing, sort of. It was more like a rock'n'roll movement consisting of walking sideways without taking the feet off the ground, while singing "hey people, make way for Miss Arpie Dadoyan" back and forth with my classmate and cousin who had the same last name but said her own first name.

We got our diplomas from Mr. Simon Vratzian, the fourth and last prime minister of the short lived independent Republic of Armenia (1918-1921). Before I knew this, I had concluded that since he spoke Eastern Armenian, spoken by the people of Soviet Armenia, he is a communist, and I had a hard time balancing the very nationalistic teachings of my school with this fact.

Just like when I used to think that the oldest priest in our church was Jesus...

After the ceremony was over, dad approached me smiling, congratulated me and told me that I had just had another sister, that mom was in the hospital and that she was fine and will be home soon." So mom was not there and what is this about a new sister? I was intrigued. Then it was the turn of my dad's uncle to be presented to me as just having arrived that day by boat from America and he congratulated me too. Aunts and uncles, cousins and acquaintances, everybody was happy. It remains one of the happiest moments in my life.

see for yourself

sorry you had to tilt your head...

bougainvillias

view from my balcony!

many of them

It Could be a Cactus Too

They are singing from joy and moving their arms in unison.

I don't know what this is. Somewhere it is autumn.

The Lantanas of the Neighborhood

The first time I walked in the neighborhood I was in such awe of the many plants and flowers growing in people's front lawns that I decided to do it again with a camera. This wanting to share and knowing exactly which of my friends will like them while others will "amaa dzaghigi ngarner trer e" saying will laugh their ass off, does not permit me to feel alone. Thanks for the memories.

I had previously posted pictures of the Lantanas I found in New Milford, took home and nursed for a few months and lamented their absence the following year. Do not despair my friend. Here, I saw them for real in different colors. White, purple, red, orange and multicolored ones.

No, my life has not become all about flowers but they seem to be everywhere. Specially the cashier clerks. Besides the family I have set up shop with, they, the cashier clerks, the people behind the counters where I buy coffee, food, toileteries, cigarettes or incense, are also like flowers. They are very kind, smiling and willing to serve, something triggered by my change of attitude resulting from lessening my indiscrimate services to others. I think.

Lo and behold, my housemate found a job in a flower shop. Last Saturday night, I drove there and helped her voluntarily so that she can finish her work before midnight and we can go have fun with our mutual friend. And we did. I put close to 150 red stem roses each into its own cellophane rap, each unique in size, shape, amount of leaves on the stem and beauty.

No, there is no other way. Life is a flower.

Part VI - Oh, the arch!

Part V - Before Arizona

This is in Oklahoma at an Indian outpost. I couldn't see what I was recording from the sun's glare. Sorry for the quality but add the wind and you have a blind shoot.

Part IV - Random Pictures

The cross on the right is over ten times the size of the telephone poles on the left. This is somewhere in Texas. The biggest cross in the western hemisphere they claim.

The snowcap is in Flagstaff Arizona so are the other two pictures taken within a couple of hours apart.

Part Three - Walking Freely

Route near Streetsboro, Ohio.

These purple trees were everywhere along the Interstates.

Yes, that's a beer in my hands.

Fairview Heights, Illinois' Joe's Crab Shack where I had crab cakes as in the photo above this one. Yummie!

Not only am I embarassed about having forgotten Illinois, but yesterday, while rechecking my hotel receipts to find the name of the town in Missouri where I stayed overnight, I found out that I had actually stayed at the Super 8 in Fairview Heights, Illinois on the third night of Crossing the U.S.A.

Freedom takes time to get used to. The kind of freedom that involves moving the body from one point to the other and this for seven days. Every minute was about a decision to do something for myself. It gave me a chance to consider being selfish having no other choices, like if someone was traveling with me, it would have been a whole different set up and experience. Maybe even better but different. I had to remind myself every minute that I was free to do and go anywhere I wanted. I liked the feeling so much that it became secondary where I went and what I did.

Enough about me though. Right before Oklahoma City, as the Interstate I-44 will slightly descend, I see it (the road) ahead take the shape of a heart. It divided itself into a heart and then became one again. I had just passed the sign which said "you are now passing through the heart of America" and maybe not in those words (did you think of recording or photographing this? no, how could I? I was in awe and I am not sure I saw what I saw. Do not confuse the word awe with saw.)

In Ohio, I went to a Native American museum at Fort Ancient. A deeply informative, multi-media presentation of Native American life from thousands of years ago to the recent past with trails going through their ancient city, archeological finds, recreated boats, paintings, ancient tools, etc. Would talking about how I felt when I came out of the museum be considered "she is talking about herself?" If you will forgive me, it made me sad.

In Weatherford, Oklahoma, the radio clock in my hotel room showed one hour, the television showed another and my cell phone another. OK, this was a motel and I was the only customer that night. But for $29 a night, the room was big, had a mini-frig, a microwave, a television, a shower and the television remote was given to you upon registration and payment.

"You mean people will steal the remote too?" I asked the very tired and non-smiling woman who came out of a room to greet me.

"They will steal anything!" came the tired answer.

"But if they steal this, what would they do with it without a television?"

"That's just it" she said and we silently became friends having agreed that you need a television set in order to use a remote. The woman was feeling better already. I could see it on her face. I was feeling better too having made my mark as an innocent intelligent. Now, as I am writing, I see it differently.

First, my question should have been "Why don't you keep the remote with the television?" Then I would have known instead of thinking like a paranoid traveler who thinks there are thiefs everywhere and that would be the only reason for the remote to be kept in the office. So I still don't know what made her smile.

Secondly, once they pay and they have the remote, what would keep them from stealing the tv set too?

Unless the thiefs are non-customers, i.e. "let's go and rob the Economy Inn" folks. Then, and only then this would make sense. Enlighten me.

The next morning, at the gas station, I asked the cashier clerk for the time and when she told me the time I asked "In Weatherford?" She said "In Oklahoma." I can't describe the look on her face when she said that and I can't describe the embarassment I felt. I punished myself by getting chicken strips and potatoes, at 10 o'clock in the morning, which were, thankfully, very tasty and deliciose and so finger licking good that I couldn't stop eating.

My first evening on the road, in Streetsboro, Ohio, the motel was across from a restaurant named Rockne's. This intrigued me because I used to date a Rockny in 1976 and I had not heard that name since. I walked freely towards the eatery after registration and smack came face to face with a picture of Rockne Knute in sports attire and a football in his hands. I figured the restaurant is named after him. On my way out I wanted to know what was his claim to fame. The receptionist didn't know, the waitress didn't know, a passing waiter was happy to let me know that he was the football coach of Notre Dame. "Was that before Jerry...uh...oh..." I was wondering if it was Parseghian or Tarkanian? There was no help from the waiter either so I asked him where Notre Dame was. In which town or state I wanted to know. My knowledge kept making me think of Las Vegas but hey, I could be wrong. The waiter didn't know where Notre Dame was.

I just did a search on Rockne and I find out as head coach of the University of Notre Dame in South Bend, Indiana from 1918 to 1930, he achieved an all-time winning percentage of 88.2%, the highest percentage in Football Bowl Subdivision (formerly known as Division I-A) history.

Coincidentally, the only person I know who is from Indiana, David Letterman, was just announced as coming up on Live with Regis and Kathy and that's the reason I have the television on at 10 a.m. today. I was on his show many years ago you know.

So, I'll talk to you in Part IV of Crossing the U.S.A.

Part Two - "Bless your heart"

Downtown Cincinnati

Sports Arena on my left

When I turned right the sign read "Welcome to Kentucky" but I don't have a picture. This was what I got. I'll take it.

After the unexpected shock of the Welcome to Kentucky sign, I continued south on I-71 which at that point was also I-75. Somehow, somewhere, probably while I was admiring the blue of the grass so green, and unbenounced to me, they must have become two because suddenly I realize I am driving on I-75. I regroup myself and start thinking back to see where I left I-71 but I can't come up with an explanation. I need gas too, so I take the next exit to find out what happened.

The gas station is on top of a hill overlooking more grassy hills and some houses. Beautiful. But where am I? I am in the United States of America I tell myself and go into the shop to pay for gas. A man in his early sixties is sitting behind the counter; a woman mid 30s who looks like she works there; and right next to me, another woman in her early 40s maybe. I don't know, I am trying to set up the scene. After giving the man the money, I ask him "how did I end up on I-75 when I was going on I-71?"

Before the man even had time to think about what I was saying, the woman next to me said "Bless your heart!" in such a way that tears welled up inside me. And of course I took this opportunity to let them know how far I had come which received another "Bless your heart!" Instead of saying "thank you", I said "I know, I know" smiling in disbelief that I have gone through four states in a day and a half. They told me how to get back on I-71, they gave me options when I inquired about motels in the area, they wanted me to stay in their town because I told them I don't want to drive at night. I thanked them profusely receiving their good wishes and blessings.

I went to the car, sat down and looked at the Atlas while in my head repeating "bless your heart, bless your heart, bless your heart" the way she said it. I relived it over and over it felt so good.

I now could see how far I had gone out of my way. I had been driving away, southeast, for about two hours. Which meant that to get to I-71, I had to continue south to Lexington, then west to Louisville via I-64. I didn't mind but I was emotional and hungry.

I drove to the next exit, where all the nice motels were supposed to be and came face to face with a Kentucky Fried Chicken place. I know, I know. I went in anyhow. You will forgive me but to each their own. I just wanted to be able to say that I had Kentucky Fried Chicken in Kentucky. I said it.

It was different than your usual Kentucky Fried Chicken place. It was a buffet setting and it was way more delicious. Or so it seemed to me. Especially the spinach which was the best boiled spinach I ever had.

The people eating their chickens were like you and me. Not like the woman at the gas station. She was different. Her very blue piercing eyes and her red cheeks reminded me of the folks up in the mountain villages of Lebanon. People who live close to nature. I wish I had asked her name cause I remembered her throughout my trip and what she said warmed my heart and opened my eyes to a people hetherto undiscovered.

I would meet a few more like her on my journey but she still stands the closest to me on that hilltop overlooking the Kentuckian afternoon.

Bless her heart.

Part One - Tire Pressure

Having done my duties as a sister, daughter, aunt, and cousin on Easter Sunday, I went home and tried to follow my cousin's advice to get eight hours of sleep before my drive to Arizona from New Jersey the next morning.

Sleep would not come. I was too excited and eager. I sat up and said out loud "I was trying to shove sleep down my throat." This was followed by a decision to start loading the car and leave when done.

Outside it was still dark and I heard my name called. It was my neighbor, Diane. "Have a safe trip" she said. I blew her a thank you kiss because I was afraid I would cry if I said anything. I didn't have time to cry.

At 7:03 a.m. Monday morning April 5, I drove out of the driveway, something I had done for eleven years. This was the last one.

I went to the gas station next door and checked my tires. The right side tires had shown some melancholy lately. I filled them with air by looking at healthier tires. Did I say I prayed before leaving the driveway?

The night before, a friend from California told me to have my tires checked before leaving because his tire blew once because of overpressure. I wish he hadn't told me that. I had no time to have them checked. I wanted to leave. And I left. I wish he hadn't, because I was incredibly worried that if I have put the wrong amount of air, the tires would blow up. And I saw signs on the road throughout my travels. Pieces of blown up tires all over the asphalt. Every couple of hours, I would see one and if I had forgotten to think about my tires for a couple of minutes, they came to remind me to stay worried. "Is this my tire acting up or is it the road?" was a constant until it would stop. It was the road most of the time.

I even looked for a tire specialist or tire store or an auto repair shop the next morning when I was in Streetsboro, Ohio. The guy I asked had approached me with a request for a dollar so he can buy bread. I told him to either tell me where I can find a tire store or check my tire pressure himself to earn his dollar. He said that I could buy a pressure gauge across the street. I said that I didn't need a gauge, I needed someone to check my tire pressure thinking a gauge was a complicated thing and needed extreme intellectual abilities and would be expensive. He said that if I had a gauge he would check it himself. I decided that was the end of it and gave him a dollar for wanting to help.

Again, I filled the tires with air by approximating them with tires that had diplomas and continued on. A nine hour drive going south in Ohio, passing through Cincinnati and smack right in the middle of it entering Kentucky (I am saying the Welcome to Kentucky sign is in downtown Cincinnati), visiting the Ohio River in Louisville (first picture above) and just west of Louisville finding a Motel 6.

It was green, so green, the next morning, the view from my window (second picture above). The grass spreading on rolling hills with a cluster of houses far away. Just like country. I was in the country. Halfway through Ohio, it had started looking like this. Kentucky was the greenest state. The grass is so green that it is almost blue. That's probably why they call it the Bluegrass State.

It had been 90 degrees the two previous days but this morning the sky was overcast and the air cooler. I drove to the gas station not far from Motel 6 which I had chosen because it was the one advertised in the Atlas of the U.S.A. and Canada that I had had and studied for ten years with something like this in mind. Why not? It was clean, comfortable, and it had a beautiful view. It was not a motel as we know in the east coast. It was a hotel masquerading as a motel.

At the gas station, I found out there is an auto repair shop in the back. I was thrilled. I drove to the back and as I was parking the car I noticed all the cars had Indiana license plates. I must be very close to Indiana I thought. A very kind young man helped me and used his own pressure gauge to check my tires' air pressure. While he was doing that I was concluding that it must not be very expensive to buy one. When I told him my problem, he calculated that it was a very small leak and checking them every time I buy gas would be enough to get me to my destination. I inquired about a place where I can buy a pressure gauge and I bought one.

Now not only am I pomping gas but I have a gauge. For a very long time I used to pronounce gauge as gowge. Now, I even have one. I was getting more excited by the day.

As I drove away I decided to stop at the first rest area to make phone calls, take my vitamins, etc. This tire business had me so worried that I had forgotten everything else.

At the rest area a huge sign said Welcome to Indiana, Crossroads of America (third picture above). This was the pinnacle of my excitements so far. I think I called someone and told them where I was. In fact I did that every time I was in a state, I called someone and told them. "I am in Oklahoma" was the best. Part of my excitement was due to the fact that I could for the first time take a picture of a welcome sign. The others so far appeared when I was driving.

I had slept in Indiana without knowing that I was sleeping in Indiana. I found this out when I was checking my hotel receipts a week later in Arizona. The Motel 6 was in Georgetown, Indiana. The town I bought my gauge from.

There you go, part one of Crossing the U.S.A.

Providence, April 17, 2010, URI Feinstein Center

I sang more than I talked, I talked more than I walked, I walked more than I danced on stage that day. Yet, one of the first things said to me later by audience members was that I had probably been dancing since I was two years old. To which I replied "probably" because I vaguely remembered that I indeed used to dance at that age. My maternal uncle Hrant used to teach me the samba, the tango, the rhumba and the pasodoble steps. We danced side by side up and down the little space that we had in the living room of my grandparents.

Then school happened. I had to learn other things.

When I first started singing in public, I was afraid to do and say anything in between songs but thank you. Gestures, walking, some movements but not exactly dancing came later.

Dancing, really, as I would at home when nobody is looking, that's how I must have danced.

That is very satisfying to know.

Bougainvillea

The morning after my arrival was Monday, April 12, 2010, and since then I have been picking beautiful bougainvillea plants and have put them in a vase on the kitchen table together with little yellow wildflowers.

The site of these beautiful bougainvilleas keeps transporting me to my childhood home which sat as the top of a T street, the vertical part of the T had bougainvillea plants on the gates of a garden overlooking the street.

One day, mom and I went picking some so I can take them to the teacher the next day.

I gave my flowers to the teacher and she put them in a vase on top of the cabinets where we put our lunch boxes and jackets. A few minutes later they were replaced by leftover flowers from a wedding the previous day. Flowers people paid money for because they needed care and nurturing to grow. It doesn't matter what kind they were. Pick one. So my flowers ended up in the garbage because nobody had paid any money for them. They grew around wildly without much care and came with their own leaves and stems. They didn't need arrangements to look beautiful.

My consolation was that no matter how sad they looked in the garbage, they still looked more beautiful than the ones in the vase.

Everytime my roommate here sees these flowers in the vase, she smiles and says "they are beautiful".

I have come a long way since kiddygarden.

Forward Motion

Let's see if I can write one paragraph without reaching for a cigarette. It is interesting that whenever I write, I also reach for the cigarette more often than when I am not writing. I have so much to deal with, to handle, to accept, not to accept, to throw away, to recognize, to keep on going.

To write? She asked perplexed. "It must be" came the answer and so it is.

Now that she made sure she was not committing a big crime by writing, as an introduction, she wondered if she had anything else to write about on this blog which has some wondering where she is.

I can start from there.

There being here, in a new state and of mind. Where am I? In the 70s, we heard the saying "remember, wherever you go, there you are?"

So what does it matter?

Լաւ էր - չէ՞

Ինչ լաւ էր, ինչ լաւ իմ լաւ
Ինչ տեսարան պարզուեցաւ
Երբ ես կեցայ հոն՝
Ուր ինծմէ առաջ
Ոչ ոք չէր կեցած
Եւ եթէ կեցած էր
Չէր տեսած այն ինչ ես տեսայ
Երբ այս առտու պատշգամից
Նայեցի:

From Tucumcari, New Mexico

American Indian Museum in Ohio, Indian Trading Posts in Oklahoma, Ohio River in Louisville, Kentucky, old Highway 66 and the biggest rocking chair in the world in Missouri, the biggest cross in the western hemisphere in Texas, the purple trees along Interstates 64, 44 and 40 to name a few landmarks.

I decided to stay here tonight instead of, for example, Amarillo, Texas or the more sophisticated Albuquerque, New Mexico.

It seems like the week went by so fast going through New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Kentucky (where I had Kentucky Fried Chicken but don't laugh), Indiana, Illinois, Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas and now I am in New Mexico.

It has been an emotionally potent trip so far and I have enjoyed every mile with a smile on my face and the sun on my head. I have sat in the car for hours and I have just waited for the towns, cities and states to arrive. And they have so far been present to all the rendez-vous.

It will take more than one post for a detailed description of all that I saw, did, said and experienced. I have a bunch of pictures some of which are hard to believe but hey, I didn't do it.
It was there and I took it. I hope to post the pictures sometime next week.

I will be in Arizona probably Sunday. I am beginning the best part of the trip and I don't have to rush anymore...

If you want to look at a map, I am going west on I-40 all the way to Flagstaff, then head south to Phoenix.

So long.

On the Road Again

If all goes well, I will be driving to Arizona starting this coming Monday the 5th of April. I hasten to let you know because my web activities will be cut off tomorrow night and I won't have access to it on the road unless by some miracle I land in places where they have internet cafés.

All those lucky enough to have received my mobile number, please keep in touch. I will too.

Talk to you on the other side.

Happy Easter.

For the Three Followers

It says here that I have three followers on this blog. In other words, three people who at least are notified every time I post something. But I don't know if they read it. Only very few people have put comments by encouraging me to write. It could be the same person. Does he/she read this? Some people let me know that they read by sending me an email. Thank you all.

I would like to speak to the followers now. Are you still following me? Why? I would like to know. What are the characteristics of a follower. Because I want to be an active follower too and I would like my followers to be active as well. What is the use of following? Cooperation? Collaboration? Witnessing? Recording? Being there?

I admit, although I do follow some select people's endeavors, I rarely make comments. Except on Facebook where some of my friends know me. I made a mistake, for example and said yes to someone I thought was someone else. Mistaken identity. Same last name. I posted a comment once in a group and was immediately flamed. It was a stupid comment and it was stupidly understood.

So for the sake of consistency, perseverance, and maybe to put order in my thoughts, I might still write here.

Commonality of Languages

Hey there, can we agree that languages use at least the same sounds? For example, I long ago realized that the dialect of Armenian my grandparents used had the same pronunciation for the letter "a" as the English language. The same intonations, give or take some degrees of differences. Can we live with that?

Is that all I wanted to say when I hurried to the computer? Nada! I went to say goodbye to the deli owner in the neighborhood. He asked me if I was writing my book. My book? said I. What book? I am not writing a book. He said "didn't you tell me that you were writing a book?" That's when I realized that I might have. That is something I might have told but I was for sure lying. Now why would I lie like that? Probably to exaggerate my standing. If this is getting too philosophical, psychological or analytical, let me finish by saying that he reminded me about wanting to write a book.

This could be an exercise in that direction. Life has to be remembered. What we think is important. What we feel even more. So why would I choose to feel bad when I can feel good. Circumstances. Eh, I know English too. I understand most accents except the "égue." Although it does not need understanding. It just changes the sound of the "e." From the "e" of the "le" to the "é" of "café." Now say Le Café. You thought I was going to say something bad about the égue didn't you? You would have been almost right. It means sharp. In my defense. A truth cuts the lie. No, not in pieces. It just makes it disappear. It is not there anymore.

Have you bought your copy of the newly released CD "Sandplay" wherein I sing my own compositions? If you live in the alentours of Glendale, California, Abril Bookstore will have some tomorrow, Wednesday. If you live in the New York City area, the Prelacy bookstore carries some. In both cases please call to make sure.

Abril Bookstore (818) 243-4112

Armenian Prelacy (212) 689-7810

They will be in other select cities soon. I just hope to God your city is selected.
Because. That's "vorovhedev" in Armenian. I love saying that word in Armenian. It carries a certain "je ne sais quoi" which enables one to use it in a thousand different ways, to make a thousand different excuses to say I love you too.

Talar

Talar will be 2 years old next month. Her mom just called me and told me the following:

Today they pick up Sevag from school and are heading home when, out of the blue, Talar says

- I want to go to Arizona.
- What's in Arizona?
- Arpie is there.
- No, Arpie is still here in New Jersey.
- Arpie is here?
- Yes, she is here.
- Where is she?
- At her home.

Children make my day every time.

I just took my medication

It was three hours overdue. And here I was saying "what's the matter with me? I can't sleep." I had things to think about. And I almost slept for five minutes with a dream waking me up. Or was it? So I took the medication.

So I can gossip about him. He is a bad, bad, bad boy. He is a bad, bad, bad, baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad boy. Hey, that could be a song. Actually it is a song I just wrote. Tonight I saw a program called "Artist's Den" on the television. A whole hour with Patti Griffin. She was amazing. She is amazing. I wish I could write songs like that. Hey, I am just talking with you like you were here. I am giving a virtual show. For free.

After Patti Griffin, I saw Holly Hunter talking to Tavis Smiley. Do you see anything weird about that? No. Except during Patti's concert I kept insisting that she reminds me of someone. That's right, Holly Hunter. There she was looking great and amazing too.

I have done this before but vocally. With no one around me to hear, I used to perform when I had a little space upstairs where I used to live. This is a blessing in disguise. Now at least someone is reading this. Hello!

So, as I said in one of my postes d'antan, I am a people. I am one of the characters in a Sempé picture as written and sung by Anne Sylvestre, "Comme un Personnage de Sempé."

It just dawned on me that most of the people leaving comments on this blog go by the name of Anonymous. By my modest calculations, they are all famous. It is so easy to live the dream in a dream state isn't it? For example, I should have been asleep dreaming right now. But I am not. I am chit chatting. I can't even call my saintly friend in California right now. It is past their bedtime too. Glorious opportunity to write, for someone who can have long periods of avoiding this said wonderful activity.

I also had a Margarita on the rocks with salt today. At the Panchos Burritos restaurant. Great name. It is the best restaurant in our town. They have sidewalk sitting with huge yellow unbrellas in warmer seasons. Today I realized they have doubled the size of the place. Good for them I said.

So I didn't go to Arizona yet. I was rushing to get out of here and that was not supposed to be the idea until the demolition crew arrived. From then on I got a little impatient if you will excuse my other language. Now that the crew has decided to misunderstand me, and I quote, "we can't work with that girl" saying has abandoned premises until April 5, to know this has helped the slowing down process. Even been able to think here and there. Haba!

Caught!

The thief was caught and the license plates are back on my car. It was probably a prank. This is/was a good omen. It gave me a chance to relax. In due time.

Par Example

Parfois, "sometimes, people will say the opposite of what is true as an attempt at levity" Craig Ferguson twittering. I like that.

I also like that someone stole my car's license plates, thus making my departure tomorrow, this morning, quite impossible, and thus giving me a chance to write something. Life has been so boring lately. What with my mom moving out into her own apartment, and moi looking frantically for a place to rent before the demolition crew arrives, and by process of elimination, finding myself in Arizona. I think I'll take the offer presented to me there. It was one I couldn't refuse and it was affordable. That was it. Nothing more. Boring. Well, there was also a recording I was doing and just in the middle of completion. That's all. Life is easy. Even the demolition crew, which arrived unannounced, did not keep me from staying on course, i.e. thinking about and doing the leg work for my move to Arizona and the leg work for the CD which is coming out. By leg work I do mean mainly finger work. The keyboard. It is very close to suggesting music. The personal kind of music which has perhaps brought about the expression "music to my ears".

Where was I? So, I was ready to leave with my car and some belongings to Arizona. Drive cross-country to Arizona. I had always dreamed of it. There is only one way to see the country. And that's by seeing the country. There were some other boring incidents having to do, for example, with me getting angry one morning because I was awakened by the sound of the house being banged on. I opened my bedroom door, and found a worker dismantling the door next to mine. Who wants to wake up like that? Specially after a night of pure headache (my doctor told me all headaches are unexpressed anger and/or rage). Whether it is true or not, I don't know. But in this case it sounds true to me. I had already heard the sounds of demolition and remodeling for a month every day except Sundays. I pulled the door shut behind me in a way that would show anger. Bang! "Why don't you get a tractor and go over the house once and be done with" I told him walking as far away from the noise as possible. "They told me to come to work, I came to work" he said for his defense.
"Nobody asked you to come to work. You came to work because you wanted to come to work and you chose this morning to come to work. I know this. We are all dancing to your tune." This information was gathered by me through multiple telephone calls to the landlord. One time, in order not to hit this man, I had offered to make him a salad. He had refused in such a way as if his refusal might upset me. "Oh no, thank you very much. I just had some lunch, that is why." After hearing Dave Letterman talk about a friend who overtipped a bad waiter and explained it as sarcasm, this whole salad incident became very clear to me.

A few days later, a Saturday, before nine o'clock, after another headachy night which was still lingering by the time I awakened to the sound of heavy banging with a hammer. I opened the door stumbled out towards the sound and found the other worker from Mehico spread out on the floor banging on something. I didn't look for details, I just wanted the sound to stop. "Stop" I said at the same time as the Fire Department's alarm horn started tooting. It is across the street from where I live and it can start at any time of the day or night. The worker continued banging on the floor and I kept saying "stop", louder each time until he heard me. He turned to me and said very calmly "alarm" and went back to work. That's when I screamed "STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!" I showed him my head and said "headache" because he no speak inglaise. I thought him a few words in English though before this incident. I even fed him twice. He wanted to go to California with me. I told him I am not going to California, I am going to Arizona. He said he will go to Arizona with me. So I had to explain that I am invited there, whereas he, is not. I came back to my room, closed the door and started screaming at the top of my lungs. Crying, screaming, from pain, both emotional and physical. When I came to, my headache was gone. At one point he came to the door and I could hear him say "Miss, Miss, are you ok?" All I could say was "GO HOME". Then in the middle of my pain I thought he would think I mean Mehico and would start a discrimination suit on me, I said, "Go Upstairs", where he had nested for the last month and where I used to live. He did and I could hear him talk on the phone probably saying things he imagined because I can understand how that would not make sense to someone. An hour later, he worked some more but this time in a totally different manner. As if he was afraid to make a sound, he was sandpapering a newly installed door. He did a good job. The other guy demolished, this one built. That's life.

That was that. He left that Saturday and wanted me to give him a ride instead of him walking five miles to the bus stop. I hesitated for a moment, then I got my Christian courage up and said "ok" as the demolition guy walked in with a friend and I asked him immediately to give the worker a ride and he agreed. I have seen none of them since. Another call to the landlord was met by stern reprimand. I had screamed at the workers and asked them to leave. And that's the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth.

I accelerated my departure taking advantage of the lull and producing better results for my work and even reserved a hotel room in Ohio to have a deadline which was to be today. This morning. Sunday, March 21, 2010.

But someone has stolen my car's license plates.

Fifteen Minutes

Fifteen minutes is all I have right now before I watch my tv shows. Yes, some of us still watch television. Imagine that. After a long day's work, we like to do whatever it is that we like to do. Now I only have eleven minutes. By the time I am done with this post you might be able to guess what show that is. It is not important that I watch it, nor do I need to watch it, but I simply like to watch it. So, I ask you, why should I not watch it? One of the qualities of this show is that it does not insult one's intelligence. When a negative is used to explain a positive, you might conclude, in this case, that somewhere there is a lot of intelligence insulting going on. And you would be right. No double space after a period all you 1960s typing students. There is no need. But my thumb is used to double click on the space bar since then and I can't control it right now. OK, I caught that one. Now I don't know what I was talking about. Ha, the show. Yes, I almost need to watch it because that's where I get my cathartic kicks.

Երեսնիդ վարդի ջուր:

Sandplay, the CD

Sandplay, my vocal album is at www.cdbaby.com/cd/arpiedadoyan. Also at http://www.digstation.com/links.aspx?albumid=ArpieDadoyan.

Խօսակցութիւն մը Դալարին եւ Սեւակին հետ

This evening, I went to see my friends Talar, 2 years old, Sevag, 4 years old, and their parents Diane and Varouj. Talar, Sevag as well as Diane were with me throughout the time I was preparing my CD so from time to time I would give them a copy of what we had done so far and they would listen to it until it came out of their ears. They know every song on my album, word, music and harmonies. They demand to hear it when they are in the car, in the kitchen and in the living room. They were in Montreal a few months ago and I got an email from Montreal from my friend Hourig, through whom I had met Diane. She writes that little Talar will not stop asking for Ayp Pen Kim (one of the songs on the album) until she actually hears the song then she calms down and starts singing with it. Their tastes about their favorites have changed throughout the months. One day they like Ayp Pen Kim, another day they Ov Bidi Lseh, Il Est Beau, or Vorovhedev, or Dlé Yaman, Hrammetsek, etc.

Diane had made soup for them tonight. The three of us, Talar, Sevag and moi are sitting around the table and are talking and eating. Mom has made Alphabet Soup for them. We recited the alphabet then the Armenian alphabet at which time I had the bright idea to tell Sevag «հիմա դուն Իւ Փիւր Քէն կուտես կոր», «հիմա Դա Եչ Զան կուտես կոր» եւայլն: Քովես Դալարը «ես Իլ Է Պօն կերայ» ըսաւ եւ ես գետին ինկայ խնդալէն: Սեւակը քաջալերուած «ես Որովհետեւը կուտեմ կոր» ըսաւ եւ երեքս խնդացինք: Այսպէս շարունակեցինք մինջեւ որ միակ երգը որ չկերանք Տլէ Եամանը մնաց եւ ես յիշելով որ Տիանը ինծի ըսած էր թէ Դալարը այդ երգը չ՛ուզեր լսել, ըսի՝ «Դալարը Տլէ Եամանը չի սիրեր: Դալար, ո՞ր մէկ երգը կը սիրես ամէնէն շատ:»
Դալարը մտածեց բայց չպատասխանեց: «Սեւակ, դուն ո՞ր մէկ երգը կը սիրես»: Անհապաղ «Տլէ Եամանը» պատասխանեց Սեւակ: «Օհ, դուն Տլէ Եամանը կը սիրե՞ս» ուզեցի վստահ ըլլալ: Սեւակին պատասխանէն առաջ, Դալարը «դուն Տլէ Եամանը կը սիրե՞ս» հարցուց ինծի: Բերանս բաց մնաց: Քիչ մը իրաւունք ունի որ իմ նախասիրածը չէ եւ ճիշդ այդ ձեւով ալ հարցուց արդէն: Այսինքն դուն կը սիրե՞ս որ մենք սիրենք: Վստա՞հ ես որ կը սիրես: Այդ հարցումը ես ալ ինքզինքիս մինջեւ հիմա կը հարցնեմ:

People

And their reactions to my move can be quite disconcerting and revelatory. It puts the seal on my brilliant idea to move from New Jersey to some other state, in this case, and by pure lack of other choices except ones imposed upon me, to Arizona. From New Jersey.

Mom moved out first. We put her in a smaller apartment. When I say "we", I had nothing to do with the decision. I was helping the majority's decisions. Two against one.

I lived ten years in the same house with my mother, in New Jersey. For my friends that is a medal winning accomplishment. For me, it is a miracle. For if I had any low self esteem before that, I don't find any traces of it now. Watch out.

Don't say things like "you will miss her." Give me a break. I am still here, in between these boxes, in between her and my furniture we will be leaving behind. What part of ten years you do not understand? Actually, now that I am counting properly, it has been 11 years.

I am happy to announce that it is the longest I have stayed in any one place if we don't count the house where I was born in Beirut.

Some make it more dramatic. My cousine calls from France while mom was still packing "you are going to come home, open the door, she is not there. What are you going to do?"

Just what does that mean exactly? Can someone explain that to me? As if I asked mom to leave and now I have to live with the consequences? That's what I am hearing here. Can you ask me a question please? For example, do I feel liberated?

Yes, I do.