It is Spring here in the South. And for the first time in the 5 and a half years that I have been here, I am actually seeing the trees this year. I see them. For the first time in 5 and a half years, I can see Spring. Rows and rows of dogwood blooming…
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We just met them. But there is an instant connection. Laughing together, eating together, crying together… speaking the same language. They have been in the South for a year now. A year. And they arrived from Iraq. An Armenian family living in Iraq. From Iraq. To the South. Here. There is so much I could…
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I have been spending time going through old journals for the past couple of weeks. I have been reading a couple of entries, here and there, when I have a moment to myself… a moment of quiet and I take one of these journals, make myself a cup of tea and read. I read about…
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This is one of my favourite poems… by Yeghishe Charents – ????? ?????? Enjoy. I love the sun-baked taste of Armenian words, the lilt of ancient lutes in sweet laments, our blood-red, fragrant roses bending as in Nayiran dances, danced still by our girls. I love the deep night sky, our lakes of light, the…
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I did it. I asked my ever enthusiastic passionate emotions overflowing little one to “speak Armenian, please…” As she experiments with English – she knows it quite well – and goes on and on telling us stories, I, with a feeling of panic, ask her gently to stick to her Mother tongue… I did this….
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