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.
I'm glad elephants don't fly
There is such power in these legs of mine.
Meeting Commander AJ for the first time at the #ASCENDsummit2014.
Share Your Work
around 1100: along the schuykill river park
This shows why many among us become city-dwellers; turn the corner and this is the alley.
It's been such a long journey I almost forgot about this place, where the sounds and smells of the urban adventure disappear into the cresting waves. My baptismal hideaway.
Waiting to board our flight to Madrid, the city we keep returning to.