At home in Philadelphia 

November 29th, 2013, 1pm

I remember my grandmother’s tables being surrounded with faces we saw just once a year— honorary aunts and uncles, smiling down at us.

Those tables were also heavy with our food. Boreg, kufta, yalangi, tabbouleh, plaki, and more waited for my great aunt to finish a prayer, in her rapid and, to me, unintelligible Armenian.

Later there was sometimes a tray of baklava for dessert. Certainly breakfast the next day would be warm cherog and strong coffee for the adults.

Those are my memories. It wasn’t a world of Black Friday lines, television marathons, and turkey trots. It was us. Just us.

Cassie said thanks.

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Andrew Boyajian

Remembering, slowly, that there's more.

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