Tag Archives: Armenian

Farewell

Since my last post here in August of 2011—from Beijing, to London, to Marseille, to Yerevan, Armenia—Alice and I have seen the world.  In the process, the drawings and stories that are here on this blog have become a book, … Continue reading

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Up

Up Alice often sees my father high in the branches of one of our maple trees. At first I wondered if he was “up a tree,” as in a difficult or embarrassing situation.  Or was it Webster’s sense of the … Continue reading

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Apples are Better

apples are better My mother, Alice, was never a starving Armenian. Still, she dreams about food, the way a starving person might. Most people with Alzheimer’s lose interest in meals. Instead, hunger consumes her. Her particular conformation of plaques and … Continue reading

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Missing Parts

My mother, Alice, was always beautiful, Armenian immigrant beautiful, with thick curly black hair, olive skin, and big dark eyes. But as a girl in New York, she wanted soft golden hair, and everything that went with it. She was … Continue reading

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