Author: garineisassi

And this is why you should not take Garine camping

On By garineisassiIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Nobody in their right mind would ask me to go camping with them.  . . And this is why many of my best friends, my husband and various scouting groups have done just that. I would not love you if you were not a little bit nuts.


This particular camping weekend was instigated my those pesky Cub Scouts that are always tying knots, waving around pocket knives, and pushing caramel popcorn at you, i.e. my son. 

In keeping with the Isassi activity theme of “rain-will-follow-you-everywhere,” there was a tornado watch and warning on the eve of our trip. This cleaned out the campsite of any debris and other various camping wimps. 

We arrived in the morning to a sparkling campsite and blue skies.  We also arrived very late for the mandatory cub guided hike had left already – bad camper moment #One. 

My husband, the allknowing camper who never allows us to forget that he used to “wilderness camp” in the scrub mountains of northern Mexico with nothing but a bottle of Vodka, one match, and a pocket knife, headed up our family hike – not via the wide and luxurious path taken by the scouts, but “Orange Trail”  – marked as such for avid hikers.  This path included scaling large boulders and tripping over smaller ones.  My kids, as mountain goats are called sometimes, had no problem with this. I, on the other hand, had somewhat of a problem with this. I wound up as the baby sister left behind, serially calling out, “Hey, guys! Wait for me!” as they disappeared around a bend.

Eventually, we arrived at a beautiful waterfall called Cunningham Falls. The sign said that people should not attempt to climb the rocks around the falls. As you can see from the photo here, nobody heeded that warning.  

My daughters flung off their shoes the second we arrived, saying they wanted to use their toes as God intended — to hang on to the side of rocks for dear life. I said, “Don’t come crying to me when you cut your feet and lie bleeding to death in the killer babbling brook!”


They, in their bare feet, waded across the creek. Me, in my sneakers and socks, tried to pick and hop my way across. I made it . . . sort of.

That is actually me standing in the middle of the above photo. You are not close enough to see that I am holding a sopping wet pair of sneakers and soggy, white socks. The only sneakers and socks I had brought with me on the camping trip. Bad camper moment #Two. 

The air was warm. The sky was sunny. The water was cool. 

After some splashing and climbing and sunning and dipping, we headed back to the legal side of the creek. The kids found their dry shoes, slipping them on easily before returning to the forest. I rolled on my wet socks and shoes and made squish noises all the way back to the campsite. 


Once back, we started up a fire for dinner. I had one of my scathingly brilliant ideas! I put my socks on the fire ring to dry. They were far from the actual fire. They would be dry in a flash and I would have warmth for my feet when night fell and it got cold out. This turned out to be bad camper moment #’s Three through Ten:

My socks caught on fire!

I pulled them off the ring, beating them on the ground, since I could not stomp on them in my bare feet. My family watched with their mouths hanging open. Then, they laughed at me. 


I had to call to another scout mom to beg for socks to rescue my chilly tootsies. Good thing we have cell phones for these emergencies. 





On By garineisassiIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

 We Are The Model Bully

There is a big media blitz on bullying going on. There’s a movie coming out. Lady GaGa started a foundation. Radio and TV are filled with horror stories as the commentators act surprised and appalled. 
The number one tip for parents to keep in mind when raising their kids is that kids will do what you do, not what you say. Unfortunately, the messages our actions send, as parents and as a whole society, are too often the exact opposite of our lip service. 
Why do we expect kids to be all loving and kind to each other when everything they see in society is not? Bart Simpson spends all his time bullying his own father, and we find it funny. Every movie and TV show geared for teens is about how to be conniving, tough, or overly competitive. Batting around insults, usually directed at one unfortunate character is the norm. Or, even worse, we revel in the bad behavior of whichever reality TV star of the day has done something violent or otherwise mean. The fact that there is even a show called “Bad Girls Club” on cable is enough to reveal that we, as a collective, do not promote the concept of getting along.
The current political campaigns are another grand demonstration of how to bully. Each side spends a lot of time and energy directing verbal arrows at the other, designed to encourage public hate. This includes digging up embarrassing history about the candidates to spreading lies that slam the opposition’s dignity. These are vicious and continuous verbal assaults on one individual, backed by some kind of gang (here the political party or Super PAC). I’m sorry, but that is the definition of bullying. And in this case, the one who is the best at calculated bullying, often wins. Few of us in the real world could withstand it.
As a country, we lord the threat of violence over other counties. Basically saying, do what we say or we’ll pound you. Then we wait for countries, like Iraq, after school and screw them up.
Then there is the realities that don’t get broadcast so much until it blows up. Let’s start with the mortgage debacle of the 2000’s. To get what they wanted, people in the banking industry lured in unsuspecting people who should never have qualified for a home loan and gave it to them. First acting all nice and friendly, then turning on them and ruining their lives. Is that not bullying?
In the office, I’ve often seen people – well dressed and educated adults – engage in career backstabbing, rumor mongering and office politics in order to put others down and get ahead in business. This especially comes screaming out when the prospect of layoffs is on the table or you are competing for clients. 
So why are we so surprised and when we find out that kids are bullying each other? We act like we were never in school ourselves and that we don’t promote and witness bullying on a global scale.
I think it’s great that people are finally talking about it and actually saying out loud that it needs to change, but I have a hard time seeing how that is going to happen if WE don’t change our own actions. And, I don’t really see that happening anytime soon.
On By garineisassiIn Uncategorized1 Comment

Helicopter Moms Anonymous update: Don’t let this be you!

I’ve explained in my writings that I am a recovering Helicopter Mom. (see my up original confessions and the formation of HMA here.)

As part of my 12 steps to recovery, I need to share the stories of Heli Moms gone overboard and I believe I’ve heard the coming of the apocalypse for the newest generation. Yesterday,  On All Things Considered air one such horror show: Helicopter Parents Hover In The Workplace.

The most horrible horror of this story is that the “expert” concludes that workplaces should embrace the meddling parents!

So, now, Mom is not only responsible for raising the kid, feeding the kid, doing all the kid’s homework, covering up for the kid, and the company will refuse to hire HER because she is over 50 and has not had a paying career for 20 years, (note, that I say ‘paying’ job, because God knows she’s been working) but now, she has to do her kid’s job herslef!

Bad NPR! Go to your room! This is enabling, like inviting an alcoholic to a bar and shoving a martini in her hand.

Me and the Dog (repost)

On By garineisassiIn dog, humor, pets1 Comment

Ok, now I get it.
Why all those single, 40-something guys have dogs. You are a god to your dog. You are Mick Jagger in 1965. You are a revelation whenever you walk into a room. It’s sick. . . and I love it!

My family campaigned for a bout 5 years for us to get a dog. I had the attitude handed down to me by my mother, who said, “Having a dog is like having a 2 yr old child who never learns anything. ” That’s right. You have to feed them, wash them and clean their poop for their whole lives.

Then, after 20 years, my independent, super cool cat, Strat, passed away. (Yes, her name was Strat, after my guitar – a black and white Fender Stratocaster). It was awful. I cried a lot. My husband, who railed against the cat for our entire marriage of 15 years, cried a lot. The cat had come with me in the marriage deal. Months went by and I saw how alone I was in the house when the kids were at school and my husband at work. I’d sit at my computer and do my work for my clients or the bills and suddenly realize – oh my God….I’m a-l-l A-L-O-N-E in this house. There is no other living being here but me!

It freaked me out.

So, finally, I agreed to get a dog. I listed the conditions to my family: 1. I would not have to ever pick up poop. They, collectively, would be doing that. 2. We would get a “rescue dog.” 3. We would get an ADULT dog – no puppies or adolescents with their baby needs. 4. Said dog would be between 30 and 40 pounds in size. No yappers and no large bear types.

Once I made the decision, it only took a few weeks for me to hone in on the right dog. She was a “child” of a divorce. A shepherd mutt with a heart of gold. Already house trained and almost 4 years old. She had good manners and was smart and basically well trained.

She came home with us a on a wednesday evening, riding the back of the van with three excited children who all called her name over and over for her to look at them. The excitement wore off soon enough, after the daily walks, feeding, and pooper-scooping. But the real doom for the kids was the growing admiration the dog was nurturing toward me.

I was home all day. I am the obvious person who brings the food. I was alpha dog!!! I had dreaded the concept. I couldn’t get my kids to pick up their underwear off the floor of their bedroom, how was I going to get a inarticulate beast to mind me??? I started watching Animal Planet and National Geographic shows – “the Dog Whisperer” and “It’s me or the dog” so that I would get it right and be in charge,

Well, it worked
Too well.

Now,after a couple months together and the dog adores me. She sleeps plastered up against my side of the bed and does not move until I get up in the morning. She sits right outside the bathroom door, when I need to leave her stranded in the hall for three minutes. She follows me from room to room in the house. She lies next to the front door when I leave and acts like it’s the second coming when I return – even when the rest of the family is still home with her. She sits when I say “sit.” She moves 6 feet away from me when I say, “out.” No wonder people love having a dog. You are their god.

But, I’m a cat person and this is the reason why — sometimes, I’d like to be alone. Having a cat was more like having a roommate. If you were there, great. If you were not there, great.

Now, I feel guilty when I have to go to the grocery store or the gym and leave her behind. She does that head cocked to one side confusion look and then the stereotypical sad puppy eyes. It kills me every time!

But, y’know what? I’m getting to love my dog. She’s a keeper. And maybe the I’ll get used feeling the burden of adoration. After all, things could be worse than being a rock star in your own house.

Is this a Ghost story?

On By garineisassiIn Uncategorized1 Comment

I recently put out the question on my Facebook page about whether ghosts exist. I got a large number of comments that ran the gambit of opinions. People believe. People don’t believe.
Whether you believe it or not, there are always weird things that happen that are sure hard to explain. I mentioned that I’ve had a few encounters that I thought were ghosts  and people wanted details. The stories are kind of long and disconnected, so I said that I would put them on my blog. Two of my experiences were more of the traditional “There is a ghost in this room” kind of things. 
But one is more personal and came as a dream.  There is no way to prove that it was nothing other than a dream, but it sure felt like more.
 I wrote this last year:

The last time I saw my father was in a dream. It was a half hour before my mother passed away in a bedroom down the hall from where I was sleeping. I say that I “saw” him, because it was one of those dreams that you experience like reality. Maybe, if I was writing for the King James Bible, I would have called my meeting with my father a “vision.” My more psychic friends would call it a “visitation,” since my father had been gone from this earth for a about six years.
Let me fill you in on the situation I was in. My mother was losing her battle with lymphoma. She made her decision to stop chemotherapy and retired to my sister’s home, basically to wait it out.  I visited as many days as possible  for almost a year supposedly to help, but mostly feeling useless. Driving an hour each way, I’d dodge into the kitchen through the side door between my work deadlines, my kids’ homework sessions and chores. My sister really did everything. I just listened and held her hand and my mothers hand for a while, then ran back home to pick up a kid from soccer, make dinner and try again tomorrow.
But his one afternoon, I decided to stay the night. We knew we were near the end and Mom was unable to get out of the bed.
I tossed and turned all night and then at about 5:30am, I had a dream . . . or I want to say it was a dream, but I think it was really much more. Dad was sitting next to me in my Aunt’s living room, telling me how everything was going to be all right. He used his standard phrase, “Don’t worry about it.”
I asked him, “Are you here to take mom?” He nodded his head and patted my shoulder. I could still feel the pressure of his hand when I woke up with a start. The dog was barking.
I bolted from the bed, ran down the hall and found my mom, gone.

Summer Heat Music Play List

On By garineisassiIn Uncategorized1 Comment

 Here is a hodge-podge DJ list for a hot night. Granted, there should be more lists that might be genre specific and perhaps a little bit more up-to-date, but here is a start with some of my old favorites.

  • “Heat Wave” by Martha and Vandellas
  • “Heat Wave” by Irving Berlin (We’re having a heat wave, a tropical heat wave…)
  • “Smooth” by Santana
  • “Summer in the City” by Lovin’ Spoonful
  • “Summertime” by George Gershwin (recorded by Billy Holiday, Sam Cook and countless others)
  • “Hot Fun in the Summertime” by Sly and the Family Stone
  • “Summertime Blues” by The Who
  • “Hot Child in the City” by Nick Gilder
  • “Too Darn Hot” by Cole Porter (written for the movie ‘Kiss Me Kate’ in the 1950’s but the real classic was recorded by Ella Fitzgerald)
  • “Hot, Hot, Hot” by Buster Poindexter a.k.a David Johansen (originally by a calypso artist from the caribbean island of Montserrat named Arrow)
  • “Horse With No Name” by America

Check your history before you run on

On By garineisassiIn Uncategorized3 Comments

I got an email from someone I don’t personally know. The contents were, in part, this:

“I’m standing up because the hundreds of thousands who died fighting. My great grandfather watched as his friends died in the Civil War, my father and I watched as our friends died in WW II, and I watched
as my friends died in Vietnam . 
 
None of them died for the Mexican Flag. 
Those who died in wars for this country, and for the U.S. 
And shame on anyone who tries to make this a racist message. 
A Map Of My Country:
 
Let me make this perfectly clear!”
Then she inserted this image:
The writer went on to rant about immigrants taking over social security, not learning English, alienating “real” Americans, etc. 
As the granddaughter of immigrants from Armenia, I’m noticing that people like the above email writer – those enthralled in the anti-immigration movement, specifically from across the Mexican border – don’t seem to know their history very well or are choosing to ignore it. They argue that immigrants in the past were “better” somehow – that they all assimilated easily, learned English, and immediately embraced the American culture. Their assessments of what immigration has been in the past is so far off, it’s just sad. 
Former immigrants didn’t learn English when they got here! They huddled in separate neighborhoods, had their own groceries, odd foods, and shops where outsiders were barely welcome. They sent their kids to public school at age 5 not knowing a word of english (my parents included). My grandmother hardly spoke English in the eight decades that she lived and worked here!
Their kids learned English, joined the armed forces, and went to college. Now, they run this country as business people, elected officials, and citizens, but they always kept their pride in their country of origin, ate their own ethnic foods, decorated their homes with symbols of their heritage, and gathered together in ethnic organizations. 
AND there were always people, established Americans, who accused them of taking jobs away, pulling on social services or the educational system, or otherwise hated them for their differences. 
This goes for all large group immigrations – the Chinese in 1850’s, the Italians and Irish in the 1900’s, the Jews after WW2, the Puerto Ricans in the 1950’s, Arabs in the 1970’s, the Dominicans in 1990’s and now to the Mexicans and Central/South Americans. 
Try again on your history people. The USA is the melting pot of the world, remember? What makes us great is the rising up of the poor and uneducated over generations.
John Adams wrote, “I will be a farmer, so my son can be a merchant, so his son can be an artist.”
Also, historically, our forefathers didn’t have to hire a lawyer, be an MBA in engineering or something, jump through hoops, or pay thousands of dollars to be allowed to become an American. My grandfather didn’t have any papers when he got off the boat at Ellis Island! He didn’t have an education either. He was an unskilled laborer with a true work ethic and a humble attitude. He had a few coins in his pocket, a ruck sack with one change of clothes, and probably lice! He also had a goal of establishing a life away from violence, starvation, and painful hardships . . . just like most of the immigrants arriving today from south of the border.
I’m proud to be an Armenian-American. And if my neighbor is from Mexico or Peru, I want him to be a proud Mexican-American or Peruvian-American who cares about his own heritage as well as becoming part of our country.
This little map is simply insulting, to say the least. Immigration is not an “either/or” proposition. You don’t seek to come to the United States for purpose of shedding your entire cultural past.  America is great because we are from everywhere – because we welcome the new and different, because we use the best of immigrant cultures to build on what we already have. We are fluid and make changes for the better so that all of us can live in peace inside our borders.

I’m so happy that my grandparents came here, instead of all the other places they could have gone back before WW1.
But their assimilation was not easy. It was not “fun.” It was hard and long and arduous…it took generations so that I could be an artist. The same will happen with those coming today – their children will and already are defending our country by the hundreds of thousands. Let’s try to remember that when you look at those trying for a new life for their descendants. 

They will be citizens and they will be as proud of that as I am of being American. 
The saddest part of the original email — it was forwarded to me by an Armenian-American. 

-Garine Boyajian Isassi


one hand in my pocket

On By garineisassiIn Uncategorized1 Comment

I get this app on Facebook called “Message From God.” Of course I know it’s not really a message from actual “God,” but a bunch of yoga students from some sunday school who put together sentences a little bit like weed-smoking fortune cookie writers.  Still, I get the update once a week and, sometimes they hit home. Like today.
My message was:

“have you been the giver for so long that you have forgotten how to receive? Allow others to give you some of the love that you give so freely. Seek a balance between your giving and your receiving.”


Ordinarily, I would just chalk this up to, yeah, right, they know I’m a woman of a certain age with ungrateful children and busy husband – part of a marketing segment. The sad truth is, it’s kind of the way I feel.  


I realized this while I was reading an excerpt from the original self-help, sell-snow-to-eskimos book, “How to Win Friends and Influence People.” The section was about remembering people’s names and listening to others so they feel important — well, I feel like I do these things, but in return, I seem to sort of get ignored. Very few people remember my name unless they have to see me everyday for several years, and I think the last time someone actually listened to me, it was the dog after I said, “Wanna go for a WALK?” – which I’m sure she only understood one word out of that sentence.


But, that is a sham of my own making. The self-pity mode on my control panel gets out of wack sometimes, and I go into overdrive.  Nobody calls me. Nobody helps me. Nobody loves me. boo hoo. poor me. I don’t get invitations very often. It’s the summer. I know about six people here (since we just moved here last winter) and three of them are on vacation. I’m also very afraid of rejection, so I don’t let anyone get too close.


Notice how I slipped that last thing in, all casual like? 


Well, there lies the rub, as William would say. 


This is some kind of psychological break through on my part, but I’m not really sure how it will help me to get invited to the neighborhood BBQ. 







Me and the dog

On By garineisassiIn Uncategorized1 Comment



Ok, now I get it.
Why all those single, 40-something guys have dogs. You are a god to your dog. You are Mick Jagger in 1965. You are a revelation whenever you walk into a room. It’s sick. . . and I love it!

My family campaigned for a bout 5 years for us to get a dog. I had the attitude handed down to me by my mother, who said, “Having a dog is like having a 2 yr old child who never learns anything. ” That’s right. You have to feed them, wash them and clean their poop for their whole lives.

Then, after 20 years, my independent, super cool cat, Strat, passed away. (Yes, her name was Strat, after my guitar – a black and white Fender Stratocaster). It was awful. I cried a lot. My husband, who railed against the cat for our entire marriage of 15 years, cried a lot. The cat had come with me in the marriage deal. Months went by and I saw how alone I was in the house when the kids were at school and my husband at work. I’d sit at my computer and do my work for my clients or the bills and suddenly realize – oh my God….I’m a-l-l A-L-O-N-E in this house. There is no other living being here but me!

It freaked me out.

So, finally, I agreed to get a dog. I listed the conditions to my family: 1. I would not have to ever pick up poop. They, collectively, would be doing that. 2. We would get a “rescue dog.” 3. We would get an ADULT dog – no puppies or adolescents with their baby needs. 4. Said dog would be between 30 and 40 pounds in size. No yappers and no large bear types.

Once I made the decision, it only took a few weeks for me to hone in on the right dog. She was a “child” of a divorce. A shepherd mutt with a heart of gold. Already house trained and almost 4 years old. She had good manners and was smart and basically well trained.

She came home with us a on a wednesday evening, riding the back of the van with three excited children who all called her name over and over for her to look at them. The excitement wore off soon enough, after the daily walks, feeding, and pooper-scooping. But the real doom for the kids was the growing admiration the dog was nurturing toward me.

I was home all day. I am the obvious person who brings the food. I was alpha dog!!! I had dreaded the concept. I couldn’t get my kids to pick up their underwear off the floor of their bedroom, how was I going to get a inarticulate beast to mind me??? I started watching Animal Planet and National Geographic shows – “the Dog Whisperer” and “It’s me or the dog” so that I would get it right and be in charge,

Well, it worked
Too well.

Now,after a couple months together and the dog adores me. She sleeps plastered up against my side of the bed and does not move until I get up in the morning. She sits right outside the bathroom door, when I need to leave her stranded in the hall for three minutes. She follows me from room to room in the house. She lies next to the front door when I leave and acts like it’s the second coming when I return – even when the rest of the family is still home with her. She sits when I say “sit.” She moves 6 feet away from me when I say, “out.” No wonder people love having a dog. You are their god.

But, I’m a cat person and this is the reason why — sometimes, I’d like to be alone. Having a cat was more like having a roommate. If you were there, great. If you were not there, great.

Now, I feel guilty when I have to go to the grocery store or the gym and leave her behind. She does that head cocked to one side confusion look and then the stereotypical sad puppy eyes. It kills me every time!

But, y’know what? I’m getting to love my dog. She’s a keeper. And maybe the I’ll get used feeling the burden of adoration. After all, things could be worse than being a rock star in your own house.