Narine's Unbelievable Birthday

PREFACE: This blog will not include but one of the pictures that I mention.  My friend Narine, for whom this story exists because of her and her amazing family's kindness and generosity, asked me to let my words describe the day.  She felt the readers imagination should be able to picture the events.  I think she just disagreed with how beautiful some of the pictures of her and her family really were because of the cold weather effects on their faces.  So I honor her request and leave you to imagine.

I received a message from my counterpart at work, Narine, that I was being invited to have Khorovats at her family’s house to celebrate her birthday.  Since originally, we were going to go to the mountains, I decided to ask if I could bring my guitar.   I had wanted to play a Bob Marley and A Cat Stevens’ song for her.  She told me that would be great, that maybe I could play by this special place as candles were lit.  I was just about to walk over to her family home when she texted and said that they would pick me up in ten minutes. I finished getting ready and hurried outside.

Her father pulled up and offered to put my guitar in the trunk of his little car, but my guitar was too big.  I said I could put it in between my legs in the front seat.  I opened the front door and realized that this wonderful, unselfish family had invited me on an outing giving me the front passenger seat.  Narine, her brother, Vahan, mother Irene, and Tatik, Arevik, were crammed in to the back seat. I wanted to say I would just stay home and let them go as a family, but I knew that would have offended them.  Then Narine in her ever buoyant tone of voice said, “Barev, Jody jan”, with a big smile and everyone else joined in.  I was once again captured by the soul of this family I have come to love as my own.

I stood my guitar on the floor of the front seat and straddled it as Varujan drove us to the mountaintop memorial.  I turned in my seat to say hello to Irene who was perched quite precariously in front of Vahan leaning on the two front seats.  She smiled and greeted me again. I could not even see Tatik Arevik.  The guilt of my causing this crowded situation was overwhelming.

We turned on to the road leading to the dairy being built by CCD the NGO for whom I am here to support.  It was the first time I had seen the dairy in quite a while.  Narine said that her Tatik believes she should be hired to run the dairy.  My respect for Arevik tells me that this might be a joke, but I bet she could do a good job.  I know I would do whatever she directed me to do.

We went a few more kilometers up the road and passed a small home where Varujan asked Irene to marry him.  You could tell that everyone knew the story but me.  The love and laughter in that car was like a scene form a Hollywood production. Varujan kept his eyes on the road but I saw a rare smile come across his face.  I think I noticed a little twinkle in his eyes as he remembered the beautiful, young Irene that he asked to marry him, not that she isn’t still beautiful.

We passed a small village of wooden houses.  Narine told me this was where she and her brother lived every summer with their Tatik. The houses were small with privies.  It was very rustic but Narine spoke of the village with a joyous memory.  I stayed silent the whole trip although my mind was spinning with questions.  Narine kept apologizing about how overcast the skies were because it was a beautiful road on a clear day.

We turned left on to a winding road up the mountain. A building was covered with a giant tarp saying Ardshinbak.  It was evidently new because of the animated conversation regarding the building.  Narine teased me that it was my bank and wondered if I needed us to stop.  I teased back that I only needed to stop if I needed to hit the ATM before we went to the top of the mountain.

We reached the top near a little fenced in area.  The wind was blowing bitterly cold underneath ominous gray clouds with only hints of sunshine peaking through. I had brought an Armenian hat that I had recently purchased.  I asked if Narine if I should wear it since I am not Armenian, and this was a special place to her and her family.  She said that I should because she understood that this big American head was trying to express my devotion to Armenia, this family and Narine in particular.

We clambered out of the car to hurry to the khachkar inside the fence.  The wind whipped around us so fiercely that Varujan decided he would light all the candles for us at one time instead of us each lighting a candle.  We all gathered around the area where he was lighting the candles.  He placed them in the shrine in a way that the wind would not blow them out immediately.  As we watched them, Narine explained to me that the pieces of clothing and other artifacts tied to the fence or beside the fence were from people who were praying for their health.  They brought some artifact that belonged to someone for whom they were praying.  I understood all of that idea except for the rooster’s head.  My struggles with Armenian roosters have been previously documented.

After Varujan had lit the candles, Narine instructed me that we would walk around the perimeter three times.  I do not what their reason for three trips but understanding liturgy and that this is the oldest Christian nation in the world, I whispered to myself on the first trip around, “In the Name of the Father,”;  on the second loop, “ In the Name of the Son,”; and on the third, “And the Holy Spirit”. I know there may have been some other thoughts about this three-loop journey, but my internal whispers seem to fit the sacredness of this place to my Armenian family.

Since I first wrote this little paragraph about the rooster head and my rooster problems, Narine explained the rooster head to me.  My ignorance of the meaning is excusable but I wish I had asked before I wrote. There is a tradition in the Armenian Church to sacrifice an animal to bring restorative health to a family member.   The meat of the animal sacrificed is to be shared with the less fortunate. A chicken is to be distributed to three homes, a sheep to seven and a cow to forty.  The meat is to be eaten in one day.  The practice is called Matagh if you want, Google it.  My petty assumption that it had been a favorite rooster insulted the significance of the act.  There are many aspects to it that I will not mention here but I hope that my ignorance is forgiven.

The sacredness of the moment ended with some well-deserved levity.  Vahan was so cold he made the three laps very quickly and was running to get in the car and out of the cold wind.  Narine had to call him to come back for a picture.  I am glad he indulged me. Narine insisted that I pose in a picture as well.  I noticed later that I was standing a little uphill which did not reduce my towering over her family at all. 

 Photographs taken, we hurried to the car and began the trek back down the mountain.  Another family had arrived, and it felt right to leave them privacy.  We went back down the road past the building with the Ardshinbank sign.  Varujan pulled the car over by a little pavilion for picnicking with some playground equipment. As we got out of the car, Narine told me that the original plan had been to have her birthday party here, but the weather was too bad.

Narine took me for a walk a little way down the road to a pool of water about the size of what we would call a cattle pond in America.  The water was very murky looking and Narine told me that it used to not be so polluted.  There used to be fish in it.  I asked her if it was strictly a rain and water runoff filled pool.  The pool was on a flat area along a definite water runoff from the mountains above.  Her brother and father caught up to us and she asked them my question. Varujan explained there was an underground stream that also supplied water. I could sense sadness in their viewing of this pool as they remembered it in a healthier state.

We returned to the picnic area where Arevik and Irene were waiting.  This is when the day turned unbelievably light.  As we approached, Vahan and Narine turned back in to six-year-old children.  They ran for the merry-go-round and jumped on with Vahan pushing the merry-go-round so quickly.  The two of them laughed and smiled and had the innocent look of children in delight on their faces.  Vahan slowed it down and Narine jumped off instructing me to get on with him.  I think they were surprised when I immediately followed her orders and jumped on.  Vahan jumped off and pushed it so we were circling quickly.

I had gotten off the merry-go-round and walked over to look at the pavilion. There was a teeter totter, see-saw (whatever name you prefer) on the other side of the road and Narine jumped on it.  The smile on her face and laughter brightened this cloudy day as though a rainbow had descended in our midst.

 We piled back into the car and headed for the village of wooden houses.  We pulled off the road and into the area where there were still wooden houses.  As we all got out of the car, I was so focused on unfolding my big body with the camera bag that I did not look at where I was about to step.  Varujan yelled my name and pointed down.  There was a very fresh large cow patty right by foot.  A loud voice and a point down were universal danger signals and, although we communicate very little because of my struggle with Armenian, Varujan had saved my shoes from a terrible fate.  We both laughed at that.

Narine showed me where their house had been.  We walked around a bit but I did not take pictures because there were still people living in some of the homes.  Varujan moved the car, probably so I would not step in the cow patty and opened the trunk.  Narine and I laughed as her Tatik, Arevik, picked up a log about half her size and carried it over to put in the trunk.  I understood that Varujan was gathering the freshly cut wood to take home.  I told Narine I would help but I would be afraid I would be grabbing the wrong wood plus there is that whole I am a guest thing.  She laughed at me about that but said it would probably be best to just walk with her and learn about the village.  She pointed to where they went to fetch water every day, but we did not go there.  Vahan had gone off exploring old familiar places and Irene and Arevik helped load wood.  I should have helped but we were not there long.  Before we got in to the car, I asked Narine if I could take a picture of the three generations of women together.  I think Irene was maddest about my request because the ladies were not given a chance to brush their hair and were in clothing for an outing to stay warm.  Irene insisted I take another picture after she opened her coat to show her blouse.  The natural beauty of these three women transcends fashion magazine photos.  These women are beautiful and filled with joy and happiness.

Narine insisted that I pose with her mother and Tatik.  I find it very hard to not follow her instructions.  She is a little woman, but, as we say in America, “Dynamite comes in small packages”.  I towered over Irene and Arevik without standing uphill.  I am very proud to know these two wonderful ladies.  Varujan is visible in the background loading the last of the wood in the trunk of his car.  Arevik told Narine that she was happy I was wearing an Armenian hat even though she liked my cowboy hat.

We took off again down the road and Varujan pulled off to the side of the road because there was a grove of trees full of a berry that Narine said we do not have in America.  We all took to picking the fruit and for the first time of the day, I was proud of my height.   I could reach the berries much higher than they.  Varujan realized what I was doing and had me bend the branches down, so he could help me. We filled two bags with the berries.  Irene had me put berries in the pockets of her coat.  I felt like I was part of a great family adventure. I found out Arevik had climbed a nearby tree rather than wait for my help.

After filling the bags, Narine and Vahan wanted to show me another water source that they had found when they were children living here.  Vahan took off running down the hill as Narine and I walked behind.  Then Narine saw these wildflowers that were blooming and had to stop and gather them.  This precious young woman with the cold, wind blown face of rosy cheeks turned to look my way holding this bouquet of the tiny flowers.  I took a picture than I am sure she does not see as beautifully as I do but, dear reader, if you are not hypnotized by this beautiful scene, you do not have a human heart.  When first written I had a picture here, removed at Narine's request.  But dear reader, picture a young woman in pink sweater and beret, smiling with an innocent beauty, a slight tilt of her head to the left holding a bouquet of freshly gathered lavender colored wildflowers.  

I turned around to see Vahan coming back up the steep hillside.  Narine asked if he had found the water and he said it was dried up. He was cold and breathless from running but he had the look of a young man having an adventure and a great memory combined.  We turned around and headed for the car.

We took the rutted road down the mountain and Narine pointed out places and buildings to me.   My mind was spinning with so many questions and the historian’s desire to go and examine every detail of these little wooden villages.  My great desire is that Narine and her brother will bring me back and tell me more of the stories behind this magical place. We shared a can of Pringles as we hurried to their home.

My southern gentleman training almost killed me when we returned to their home.  I saw the gate up ahead and wanted so to jump out of the car and open the gate for Varujan.  A gentleman would do this without hesitation.  But, I am in Armenia. I am older and a guest (this sometimes feels like a curse and not a blessing).  I sat with my jaws clenched tight enough to crack the hardest Armenian walnut and watched Narine jump out of the car and open the gate for her father.  I firmly believe I felt my Uncle Glyn’s spirit thump me on the head and say,” Boy, you know better than this”.

Narine, Arevik, Irene, and I all went inside while Vahan and Varujan unloaded the firewood in the trunk of the car.  I was carrying my guitar and camera and by the time I had put them down in the living room, the car was unloaded.  Narine invited me to sit in the little room out front and said that I could help her father and brother with Khorovats while the women made the salads and vegetables. As I have said, I follow my Armenian hosts suggestions (orders) especially when they originate from a woman.  I sat down and waited for Vahan to come get me to help.

Vahan came in to the little room and pulled out his phone to show me a list of words, irregular verbs, he was learning in English. His English is better than my Armenian, so we have interesting mixed conversations.  He is a very smart and handsome young man.  Vahan has only recently returned from Yerevan.  The love between Narine and Vahan is so beautiful and powerful to experience.  I just feel happy being in their presence without understanding the language.  It makes me feel very honored that he wants me to help him with English.

We sat on the little couch in the front room and he went through all the irregular verbs on his list.  I had to help him with a few pronunciations, but he had evidently studied very hard.  We talked about the usage of the words.  He is so very eager to learn English that his attentiveness is inspiring to me as a teacher. I think he feels learning English will help him reach his personal and financial goals.  There are a million years between us but I understand his search for a place in the world better than he realizes.  It is just kind of a guy thing.  I hope I can help him with his dreams.

I don’t remember how, but we turned to a conversation about YouTube and Facebook.  Vahan was interested in my YouTube channel and why I had one. We watched a little of some of the sports videos and part of the videos I have done here in Armenia.  The he showed me his Facebook page about music called Music Forever Young. (I did not tell him that Forever Young is one of my favorite Bob Dylan songs.)  Vahan was proud he has over 10,000 followers.  He checks YouTube to see if his posts help the people he is posting and following.  It was fun to see the excitement in his eyes as he showed me lots of videos and posts so quickly I could not keep up.  I immediately became a follower of his page.

Vahan and I had been having such a good time (at least I was, and I hope he was) that I lost track of time.  We never went to help Varujan with cooking Khorovats.  Narine stepped in to the room and announced that lunch was ready.  Vahan and I cleaned up and went to the table.  The food was plentiful and absolutely wonderful.  There was a variety of fresh vegetable salads and smoky pork meat (Khorovats).  Varujan poured vodka for me and him and the ladies had wine.  We toasted Narine for her birthday and I am not sure what else.  Varujan made sure I drank my full shot each time.  I think we had about four toasts with his strong homemade vodka, one made by me to Narine for her birthday and my thanking this family who treat me as a member and not a guest.  I think the relaxed feeling helped me with the next part of this story.

After the dishes were cleared, Vahan retreated to take a shower and Varujan went away to watch the news.  Narine asked me to play the guitar.  I played a couple of little songs that I knew she liked, and her mother came in to the room.  When Narine told me her mother’s name a few months before, I had smiled and told her I liked to play the old Leadbelly song, “Goodnight Irene.” I had worked on a translation that fit the rhythm of the chords.  I sang my “Bari Gisher Irene” (Goodnight Irene in Armenian).  She laughed so at the refrain that says I will see you in my dreams but frowned at the line about jumping in the river to drown.  I do not know if I would have had the courage to play and sing for these two wonderful ladies without the liquid courage Varujan had provided.  Narine and her mother asked me to play more and I did a few more songs, especially "Moonshadow" by Cat Stevens and "Three Little Birds" by Bob Marley. 

It was getting late and I decided that I should go before I had overstayed my welcome, hoping I had not already done so with my singing.  Irene wanted to call me a taxi.  I said that I needed the exercise of the walk after the big meal I had shared with them.  Narine insisted I text her when I got home.  And so off I went on a cloudy, chilly afternoon walking down the steep hill to my place in town.  My feet had wings, and, despite the clouds, my heart was filled with sunlight.

Happy Birthday Narine jan, October 7 will  be a special day for me always.