The Worth of Souls

Mari has always reminded me of a cross between Aladdin and Martha Stewart---kind of a good hearted, upwardly mobile street kid, with a flair for the homemaking arts. She lived in the dorms, which is a euphemism for a large building of one room apartments with no heat, no kitchens, no water (except for the communal bathroom). The first time we visited her it was dark and cold and she lit a candle so we could sort of see, and burned old rags to give the illusion of warming things up a bit. She somehow managed to pay for her mother and step-father and little brother and sister to return to Vanadzor and live with her. The father has gone away somewhere, and the mother works and Mari brings the children to church with her as often as they'll come. She loves to throw parties----she orchestrated her own 17th birthday party a year ago, and delegated music, food, and decorations and was a princess for an afternoon. She had a french fry party in her apartment awhile back----luckily she had a neighbor come over who knew the right way to stick raw wires into the wall and get the hot plate to come on without burning down the fluttering curtains hanging from the doorway. Recently she had a piroshki party and I brought the mashed potato filling for the dough she had prepared. She is quite the little hostess, and we left with a promise to come to her little brother's 7th birthday party the next week. We met her at the church and rode a marshuteny out to her Papik and Tatik's home on the outskirts of the city.This is an aunt---bringing in the bowl of fried chicken. Who knows how it could have possibly been prepared in the tiny room that serves as a kitchen/bedroom without leaving any kind of a mess behind. It was amazingly tasty. No matter how rich or poor they are (& we have yet to meet the rich) they all know how to set the table with every traditional thing required for a proper Armenian meal, including, always, a plate of olives, surrounded by lemon slices, a plate of herbs, bread directly on the table, salads, meat, dolmas, pickles and tiny plates, and tiny glasses which would shame them if they got empty for even a moment (thus the continual hovering over you to keep filling and filling.)
This is Tatik with the dolmas. At the time I was really feeling that this was the most, shall we say, uncomfortable occasion I've ever been to. The people were loud ---yelling with their mouths full, eating and dancing to loud loud loud music, and drinking, (and this continued on during the blessing that Mari gave), and a very strange cousin who wandered in and out, but mixed in with all this was a happy 7-year old with a very large and ornate birthday cake who was hugged and adored and probably felt like a prince for an afternoon.
Little sister is in the pink boots. Karen, the birthday boy is next to her. The neighbor lady who fried the piroshkis is on the left, and Mari's mom is between me and Sister Deaver who was only here for one day on splits. I had been asked by a departing sister missionary to have a good talk with the mom, because she was a very bad mother. Then I was told by a faithful member of the branch that she is a very good woman and a hard worker. I am learning to prefer to think well of people and not pay attention to criticism.
This is Papik, after filling his own glass many times, trying to persuade Elder Blunck to dance, and Mari, keeping the party going. Little did we know that we would be invited to return next week for a wedding party for Mari. No one quite knows how this happened, but we took her with us to Yerevan the other day for a birthday party for Hamo's sister. Hamo is a very nice young man who was just baptized here, but actually lives down there. We don't know how they met. We don't have any idea how this happened, but as soon as she got off at the bus stop, met by Hamo, they went and got a marriage license and shocked us all out of our wits when she called the sisters and said they were married. I think this could be a good thing. I think she was born to be a homemaker.

Hadjika Vadjika Part II

If you don't know what Hadjika Vadjika means, you'll either have to go back to the beginning, or just not worry about it. It's really hard to come up with titles. This is the front of our former yoga studio. We still go to yoga, but at a much more inconvenient time, and in a YMCA pre-school room which doesn't have really great karma. Just lots and lots of stuffed animals--- by far the single most important element in Armenian interior design. Really. I'll tell you about it at home.

"Kalina" is a bakery run by Armenians who speak very good German and make excellent baklava. So the sign is actually in German, not English. There's a lot more snow and ice on the ground since this pictures was taken, and once again angels are protecting me from slip slidin' away.

This is Gagik, our yoga guru, and the living Armenian embodiment of the 13th Article of Faith. He and Elder Blunck are BFF's and he has said, and so have we, that we may very well have been called to Armenia just to meet him. Preach My Gospel talks about the "Questions of the Soul", and of course, there's no doubt that the Gospel can answer those questions. His questions are uniquely poignant and we have spent hours and hours of quality time with him exploring, listening and learning. He and Elder Blunck have climbed Mt. Aragats, we've gone to classical music concerts together, and drunk endless cups of herb tea in his studio and in our home. We've met his beautiful wife and three wonderful children, and have made 3-D snowflakes with his youngest daughter, gone to his son's rock concerts, and watched Gagik and his friends perform jazz on the sidewalk on a hot summer night. Plugged in.

He attended all three meetings last Sunday, and then asked "Do you have any more meetings I can go to today?", then came back for the baptism of a 9 year old girl from Aliverdi. He smiled the whole time and made a special point of congratulating her. He reads scriptures and prays with us, at yoga and in our home, and he stopped in for a minute today before Sacrament meeting to ask to be excused because he had a friend who needed his help. He likes our Church. He has searched for truth all of his life, and spent a year in an Indian ashram and loved the introspective spiritual lifestyle there. He believed in Lenin with his whole heart, might and mind and because of his profound disappointment when he learned the truth about that whole era-----which has affected the people in Eastern Europe more than we can ever imagine----he is understandably taking his time before he will wholeheartedly embrace the Truth because he has to know for sure. We talk a lot about freedom, and choice, and trusting our feelings. He, like everyone here, lives with extended family. His mother, who stays home to care for his ailing father, is reading the Book of Mormon, page by page. She just picked his copy up one day and can't put it down. You can be sure that you will hear more about Gagik.

Next time I will write about Mari, pictured here with Father Christmas. His day job is second counselor to our branch president. (Since then, he's married, had a son and is now first counselor.)