Friday Memories

     I awoke to sun shining through the blinds on my window. Slowly sitting up, my eight-year old mind struggled to recall what day it was. “Oh yes, it’s Friday!” Eagerly, I jumped out of bed, exchanging pajamas with day clothes in record time. Friday was the highlight of the week. Dad would come home early and we’d all go out to eat at a nice restaurant. I hurried through the rest of the day, trying to be as obedient as possible in hopes that my mom would allow me to have juice or, even better, a soft drink with my dinner instead of water.  At last, we heard the welcome sound of the garage door opening. My siblings and I rushed to the door to greet our dad before pulling on shoes and coats. After an enjoyable dinner (alas, only water to drink, but dessert was happily received and devoured) we drove a short distance to my great-grandfather’s apartment. This was where my outlook on the evening dramatically changed. My great-grandfather (or great Giddo as we called him) was an immigrant to America from Lebanon. He had a custom that I particularly disliked. When we would come to greet him, he would pull us close and give us a loud, wet kiss on the cheek. As we entered great Giddo’s apartment, I desperately tried to think of some way to escape my pending fate. I tried protesting that I was sick and didn’t want him to catch my illness. But, being that he didn’t understand English very well, there was no avoiding his affectionate kiss. After the same occurred to my siblings, we rushed to the sink and rigorously scrubbed our cheeks with soap and water (much to our parents’ amusement). Then we sat down to watch Animal Planet under the close supervision of our mother who was quick to switch off the television whenever the ads appeared. After presenting us with a bowl of pistachios he had hand cracked in anticipation of our visit, great Giddo hobbled over to his small kitchen table and thumped down a deck of cards. My father sat down, and the two commenced to play a traditional Middle-Eastern game of Hand. After several rounds (which Giddo nearly always won), we said goodbye and left for home.

     Every Friday, that scene would re-enact itself with reliable consistency until February of 2011 when great Giddo had to be moved to a nursing home. A month later, he died. Fridays no longer find us at his humble apartment. The deck of cards sit unused and my siblings and I haven’t watched an episode of Animal Planet in quite some time. Whenever I eat a pistachio I find myself remembering my great grandfather and wishing that I had been more grateful for the time spent with that dear patriarch of our family. There were a great many things I now wished I’d asked him. Questions about his home country, how he survived the Armenian Genocide, and what it was like being an immigrant to America. Parents, grandparents, and especially great-grandparents are fountains of information.  So let me encourage you to grab a laptop or a notepad and pencil, sit down with or call the oldest member of your family, and ask them about their past. Don’t let that abundant knowledge, and most important, superb bonding time, slip past you.

Bible Bee

Every summer, my family participates in the National Bible Bee. It's a great way to use the spare time we, unfortunately, are prone to misusing.

During this time, we do in-depth study of a passage of the Bible. This year, it's John chapters 1-6.

I know, I hold my pencil funny.

We also do a lot of memory work, which I particularly enjoy.

One of my favorite verses. 

My Guitar

   When I was 13, I was with my mom on her weekly shopping trip. We had stopped at Target so I could use the gift cards my grandmother and aunt had given me for my birthday. As we were wandering around, I noticed a guitar which was 50% off. I immediately wanted it. So that day, I walked home with a new guitar and absolutely no knowledge of how to play it.

   Fortunately, there was a lady at our Bible study named Nikolle who knew the basics of how to play a guitar. During the summer, she showed me how to tune the guitar and play several chords. 

   That school year, I began taking lessons at our homeschool group from Mr. Steve Abshire. He's a wonderful teacher and I thoroughly enjoyed his classes. Since then, I haven't been able to take any more lessons but I do play my guitar every couple of weeks as I try to retain what I've learned and attempt to absorb more information from various books and Youtube videos. 

Flowers, Insects, and Cats

It's always nice to stop and sniff the flowers... or in my case, stop and take a million pictures of the flowers.

Lotsa lovely pink flowers.

I see you hiding in the leaves.

About to bloom.

Love the design on the petals.

Black and white.

Of course, with flowers come bees. 

I'll have you know, these bee pictures were very hard to capture.

I believe this is a Tuliptree Silkmoth.

My sister's cat, Olivia, loves to smell the flowers.

My cat, Zoe, prefers to sleep.

Memorial Day

I found this poem that I really liked. I especially resonated with the last two verses.

We walked among the crosses

where our fallen soldiers lay.

And listened to the bugle 

as TAPS began to play.

The chaplain led a prayer 

we stood with heads bowed low.

And I though of fallen comrades

I had known so long ago.

They cam from every city

across this fertile land.

That we might live in freedom.

They lie here 'neath the sand.

I felt a little guilty

my sacrifice was small.

I only lost a little time

but these men lost their all.

Now the services are over

for this Memorial Day.

To the names upon these crosses

I just want to say,

Thanks for what you've given

no one could ask for more.

May you rest with God in heaven

from now through evermore.

-C. W. Johnson