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.
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.