"A whole, instead of a half, slice." ~ Jane Eyre

Recent slices of life since Monday...

~ Mashed green beans hit my face the other evening as well as sprayed my new pinstripe blouse from Lord and Taylor. Perhaps I should have seen it coming. The shaking of the legs in his pleather highchair that indicate the excitement over eating, the wrinkled face above the "I love My Aunt" bib that was disappointed in the taste, and the final closing of the mouth that blocked access between the baby spoonful of mushed vegetable and his pink tongue. Forcing it in with the adage "you have to eat your vegetables" coming out of my mouth, my nephew clearly disagreed. At six month old, he is exceptionally intelligent. The green beans came back my way in an instant, and in the next instant I realized that this is, indeed, the greatest kind of love. An unconditional love where I can laugh as Jack sprays food all over me and I can giggle when Jack burps in my face. Still, I am the aunt and not the mother. She can feed him the green beans next time. I will take the oatmeal and banana shift! Hopefully he will like green peas...

~ "Reilly, come here!" My head is sticking out of the classroom window as my students are silently reading The Sun Also Rises and taking notes on post-its. I had walked over to the windows that face a beautiful courtyard that is manicured by our school's Botany Club. The smell was overpowering as the window rose: it was the smell of flowers. The first spring flowers in the courtyard are fragrant. I called my T.A. over to smell them. At 8am in the morning, she and I have our heads out the window, inhaling the hyacinths. I love hyacinths because they smell like Easter Sunday and make me think of blue colored Easter eggs and blue Peeps.

~ I laughed rather loudly when D.R. told me over the phone that he accidentally packed a black sock in his jacket pocket, thinking it was one in the pair of gloves. Picturing him with a black sock on one hand and a glove on the other makes me smile. Other things about him that make me smile include his loathing of WNPR, his constant eating of Post Maple Pecan Crunch Cereal, and his remote control (or lack thereof it at times). I must keep smiling. Within a month he may be in Iraq. The idea makes me want to cry, but that won't do anyone any good. So I smile, especially when we argue over which is a better news network: CNN or FoxNews. Apparently, one is the "Clinton News Network" and the other is unbiased media. I don't know how Mary Matalin and James Carville do it. I really don't.

~ During my jog this afternoon, I watched children practice baseball in their little league uniforms. I remember being in little league as a child. Robin and I were the only two girls on the team. It was usually my father and grandpa Krikor who came to our games. We had red uniforms and black cleats. I was not a stellar player, but it was always fun to be out there. My favorite memories of baseball were Friday nights as a child. My sisters and I would play wiffleball with the boys across the street until it got dark. Even then, we still played until our parents told us to come inside. My sisters and I never wanted to be inside in the summer. Well, that isn't true. We would want to be inside to watch reruns of "Little House on the Prairie." However, after we were done watching Laura Ingalls fight with Nellie Olson, we were back outside.

~ I saw the ocean for the first time since last summer the other night. Chaz and I were in Long Beach and walked on to the beach together at sunset. The sky was navy blue, save one small line of mixed sherbert. The air smelled salty; I miss the smell of salt in the mist. Although the sun was setting, the moment felt like it was the commencement of something as good as the feeling of the ocean mist on your body on a hot summer day at the beach. I long to go back with him at sunset, sneaking a thermos full of a nice rose in a bag and packing us a homemade picnic of chicken salad sandwiches, pickles, pita chips, and a fruit salad with a splash of amaretto liquor. It would be the quintessential summer night, but not because of the wine and food and ocean and sky. It would be because I was with him.

~ My mother sent me a formal note in the mail telling me that on April 30th there will be a Hokehankisd at the Armenian Church for my Grandpa Krikor, my Grandma Anoush, and my two uncles who died too young. In the Armenian Church, the Hokehankisd is a Requiem. The spring is never an easy time for me. I lost my grandfathers in the spring, and I lost my grandmother. Each time I go to church, I light a candle for all of them. In ancient times, people would pray to their ancestor's memory for hope and guidance. I think there is a validity to this. I donate to the basket and take candles out of the box for all of them. I then place them in the brass holders next to other candles, and say a prayer to bless their souls as I light each one. Der voghormia, Der voghormia, Der voghormia. (Lord have mercy, lord have mercy, lord have mercy.)