Why is Grandma Crying?

My mother and my grandparents in Syria

My grandma, my mother's mother, spoke very little English and I spoke very little Turkish or Armenian.  Often, my grandmother would suddenly start crying and saying things in Turkish.  As a little girl, I would get very concerned and I'd ask my mother, "Why is Grandma crying?"  The answer was always the same, "She is crying because of the genocide."  The genocide, I knew, was an attempt to annihilate the Armenian people and eradicate that race from Ottoman Turkey.  I knew that 1.5 million Armenians died during the genocide.

My mother and my grandparents barely made it out with their lives.  My grandmother suffered greatly, losing 5 children through starvation, lack of services, water, and being displaced from their homeland.  My grandmother lost her first child in the desert of Hauran, south of Damascus, (now a part of Jordan). 

My grandmother never wore earrings.  After my mother passed away I found a short story she had written about how my grandmother had many nice things after her marriage, but had to sell them all.  Even her ruby earrings were torn off by Turkish soldiers.

While reading all these things and chronicling all these events, my heart poured out to my grandmother and I wrote her the following poem.

When I look in your eyes

I see another world

I am safe, I am secure

But you are not

If I could, I would travel in time

To be there

To hold your hand

To catch your tears

That travel from here to there and back again

Tears are not held in time

In the glistening tear drops

A memory is held

Trapped forever

And then you are there

Amid the bombs, the hate

Cowering and covering, protecting your young

The tears travel back again, to the present, to the now

While I peer and glimpse

Curious

Yet I cannot understand

I am safe, I am secure

But you are not

The tears gush

I cock my head, hoping to know

But the portal is closed to me

For you it is wide open

You utter in words I never learned

I walk away for I am safe and I am secure

And now I return, but the tears have taken you

And the portal has slammed the door shut

Forgive me Grandmama

I never learned, I never understood

The portal calls and beckons

For me to learn, for me to understand

With my tiny hands, I will shove, I will heave

The massive stone taunts me

The portal beckons, I twist and turn and squeeze

Through the sliver of an opening

I will find the bones and bury them

Vehanoush,

Krikor,

Marie,

Mary,

The stillborn

I will find your tears

and mix them with the dry, clay earth

burned by the heat

mixed with the hatred of men

For you, Grandmama,

I will understand

Shirley Kalashian

April 27, 2007

©

First Meeting after 49 years

The Okoomian Family in Eastern Turkey

Today I am going to celebrate the lives of two women who made a lasting impression on me. They were my grandmothers.  As I remember, these were not women that you messed with.  They were strong, they were driven, and they were survivors.  What did they survive?  They survived a life filled with death, destruction, fear, imprisonment, relocation and a near annihilation of their own people.

I will start with my paternal grandmother, Mary (or Mariam). 

Mary was born in Eastern Turkey and immigrated in 1907 at 15 years of age.  Her brother, John, had arrived in 1907 and her sister, Elizabeth, arrived in 1911.  Both Mary and Elizabeth married Armenian men right away and eventually settled in Fresno, California.  Sadly, their parents were killed in 1915 and the remaining children scattered.   One sister, Margaret, searched for her family in America once her Turkish soldier husband had passed away.  She put an ad in an Armenian newspaper and found her sisters in Fresno.

At the airport:  Meeting for the first time in 49 years

The family was able to bring Margaret to America to visit around 1956.  I was just a little girl then, but I remember visiting many places with her. 

Fresno Bee article regarding the reunion

Eventually, Margaret returned to Turkey to be with her children and grandchildren, but it was an event that will never be forgotten.

DIY RV Picture Frames

When we first moved into our RV I found out that hanging pictures appeared to be next to impossible.  Everything in an RV is designed to be light and withstand the movements of the road, naturally.  However, that posed a problem to hang anything.  I did find that I could purchase RV picture frames that were basically clear plastic with a border that you could stick on your cabinets.  So I purchased a few, but they were kind of boring and pricey.  See picture of refrigerator:

After awhile, I decided to try and make my own.  What the heck, it's just a piece of plastic that sticks on something.  I found some contact paper for covering pictures at the craft store and probably what they use for picture albums.  So I experimented with different procedures, such as:  covering the picture first and sticking that on the background paper, or covering both the picture and the background paper at once.  Both have their pros and cons.  I saved more of the contact paper by covering everything at once since the contact paper came in 8"x11" sheets and I found out it won't work to try and cut it up and cover different sizes.  Also, the background paper, whether card stock or tough construction paper, would last a lot longer if covered as well.

I placed different pictures on one piece of 8"x11" paper and then covered it with the contact paper.  .  Then I decorated the pictures with various craft items, such as paper flowers, stickers, and floral tape.  They came out quite nice and are a nice reminder of happy times with family and friends.  See example above.  Also, I use ticky tacky to stick them on the cupboards.  It is imperative that you clean every surface with alcohol or nothing will stick.

I hope this helps.  It's always fun to conquer some new problem or dilemma.  I like this solution.  My pictures remind me of my wonderful family and brighten up the living area.  More ideas solutions will continue to be posted here.