John Berberian

February 7th, 2011 by Mariam

So now it is officially official.

John Berberian will be performing with us at our next concert, in Greenville, SC at Centre Stage.

I still can’t believe this is actually true. John Berberian, world renowned oud player… here… performing together again.

The first time I performed with John was in Boston. When I first spoke to him on the phone in preparation for that show, I was immediately struck by his genuine, thoughtful, humble manner. We instantly connected. Once in Boston, he and his gracious wife invited me and my husband to their home where we spent hours talking about life, music, being Armenian, and our shared faith. It was a day I will never forget.

And then, being on stage with John was like a dream. Here was this man, this talented musician, whose music I had listened to growing up, how he breathed new life into those timeless Armenian folk songs, and here I was on stage with him… I had to work hard to stay focused! And then a year later, we had the joy of performing together again in Montreal – what an amazing concert that was!

And now, a couple of years later, here we are. It’s happening again… and I am in awe of the whole process. The entire journey. All. of. it.

From the very start of my journey into professional music, I have had the privilege, the utter joy of performing with some of the best musicians in Canada and in the US. The best. And each musician has not only been extremely talented in their art, but also, to make life even more beautiful, each one has been wonderful to work with…they have become friends: kind hearted people that I look forward to seeing again and again.

Thank you, God.

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Laundry in Armenia

January 26th, 2011 by Mariam

Laundry in Armenia

I am not quite sure why I am thinking about laundry today.

I did the laundry. It is done. We are done with that task for the next little while.

But today, for some reason, this photo from Armenia is on my mind. So I searched for it and here it is. I call it laundry in Armenia.

I am remembering those days in Armenia when all of a sudden, the traffic would all stop, everything would just stop, the police would clear the roads and then sirens would sound, and an entourage of expensive black cars, 5, 6, 7 or more of them would pass through town… drawing attention to themselves… everyone stopping, staring for that moment. The first time this happened, I was taken aback. I had never seen so many of those particular expensive cars all at one time; but here in Armenia, of course…

I was on my way to work with the children in our broken down building appropriately named Orran or Haven in English… ”who was in those cars?” I innocently asked walking to work, passing by buildings like this one, laundry on display, life inside carrying on as the luxury cars passed by… who, indeed.

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the theatre

January 24th, 2011 by Mariam

We are in the theatre today.

Meeting with our sound engineer.

I am standing on the stage feeling like a little girl and at the same time trying to act like a professional adult as I speak to our very capable engineer (thank you, Lord! You can already tell that he is meticulous about sound and I love that!)

Something happens to me on stage.

It always does.

I am a little girl singing for the very first time, looking at all those seats and wondering why in the world I am the one on this particular stage.

It is always like this. Always.

But this time, as I am listening to our engineer talk, taking in the space, and trying to visualize the show, I am also keeping my eye on two babes… my little one is cooing, my older little one is happily exploring the theatre, climbing up stairs and back down again, discovering lost treasures left behind in a busy theatre, doing a little dance, singing a song, asking me questions, breathless…

I am watching them, my precious ones, the ones I love to sing Armenian folk songs to, any songs to most, and I am planning our next show…

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a blanket of white

January 10th, 2011 by Mariam

I wake up early this morning, 4AM or something like that and look out the window, and sure enough, there it is: snow… snow falling on this city in the South…

I smile.

There is something about snow that makes me feel like a child again. And I am sure I am not alone in this sensation.

I remember waking up early when I was a little girl peering out my bedroom window and checking if the weather people had been correct – had it really snowed like they said it would? Growing up on the West Coast, we’d get one, maybe two snowfalls a year. So any predictions of snow were met with much excitement. And early in the morning, I had to look carefully to see the evidence, because in that darkness, you could see the snowflakes falling only if you looked at the dim street light… and I will always remember the glow of that street light, and the snow flakes glimmering beneath it, falling falling…

falling…

falling almost rhythmically… and I would smile.

No one else in the house would be awake at this hour but I. Nose pressed against the cold window sill, peering out into the dark sky, mesmerized by falling flakes leaving a blanket of white on the ground and that distinct calm silence that seemed to just hang over the entire neighbourhood…

I couldn’t wait for morning.

Schools closed, roads too difficult to manage – the city, for a few hours anyway, would be at a standstill. And we children would just play! My sister, brother and I, laughing and playing and slipping and sliding and being oh so silly in the snow. And then going for long walks through the winter wonderland of the forest near by… and then just as satisfying as all the outdoor activities, we’d have our hot drinks, and just watch the snow from the warmth of our living room…

Ah, I miss them. I miss that time.

And so on this snow day, while my babes are fast asleep and I anticipate the excitement that is going to erupt in our home in just a few hours once my older babe looks out the window, and I know we will have a glorious time together, I am quiet. While others are rejoicing in cancelled classes, planning out sledding trips with friends and family, or lighting the fire, I am longing for home. I am longing for the ones I love, for the ones who shared my childhood with me, I am longing to see them and walk through the snow with them, my babes in tow, longing to make snow angels and then maybe, just maybe have a snowball fight or two.

While my most precious little ones are fast asleep, I am remembering being a little one.

And longing for home once again…

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Armenian eyes

December 27th, 2010 by Mariam

She watches me ever so closely.

So much of what she says and does is exactly what I say and do. She mimics me.

I watch her taking care of her doll, repeating comforting words that I have just spoken to soothe her younger sister as I hold her close… she does the same… says the same… she holds her baby close…

I observe. Fascinated.

She is just as fascinated. She looks up at me in awe…

What do I do with this?

She grabs the little footstool, places it by our dresser, climbs up, and places her chin on her hands as she admires my necklaces… she is careful not to touch; oh, but how she wants to… she watches them, glimmering, shimmering, sparkling in the light and then looks up at me with those Armenian eyes: ”they are so pretty, mama…which one will you wear?” And I pick one and she smiles. ”Oh, mama… you are so pretty…”

I am instantly transported…

There I am gazing at my mama… she is so beautiful… I love her voice, her smile, her eyes, everything. I love everything about her, and I watch her fascinated by how wonderful she is.

I can’t imagine my child is doing the same thing now. With me.

With.

me?

It seems absurd… how did I get here? How can this little one be so fascinated by me? I am not even looking my best today. Ah, I know that does not matter to her. I know that is what I am supposed to say, but still. How can she be so in awe of me, just like I was in awe of my own mama? See, my mama was! She. Was.

And me… well, I feel like I am fumbling along sometimes…

This is just all too magical…

I feel closer to my own mama more than ever before…

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“...My dream has always been to share the story of my culture with as many people who want to listen. My grandparent’s story -- especially accounts of their faith, resilience, and hope despite the many obstacles that they endured -- and more recently, the plight of the street children in Armenia -- the very children who taught me some of the songs which are now on this album -- have inspired me. I long to share these stories with others. And as I pass on this music, these stories to others, I hope that people will be as enriched as I have been.”