The commissary had no turkeys left at all, so we had a chicken. A big one. Chynara and Mirbek came again, with boorsok and a jar of apricot jam. We all went around the table and said thanks and Lily said "for the lanterns", which I still don't understand.
Mirbek said grace in Iradi and Mark said "Amen" a little late. It was the best grace of the year.
The base fireworks were cancelled this year ("sensitivities", says Linda), so we had a cookout on the Cottonwood green with sparklers instead. Burgers, a flag on the fence, and the guard's kids waving little flags that Lily had made from napkins and toothpicks. Mirbek brought a big pot of shashlik, which beat our burgers by a mile.
The mountains had a thunderstorm after dark and that was our fireworks.
They say it's the spring new year. At the bazaar there were girls selling sprouted wheat in little bowls, and stalls with painted eggs and sweets. Chynara says that it's older than any church, which "the priests don't like to hear". People jumped over small fires in some of the yards near the Old City.
We ate sumalak at a neighbor's yard, a sort of sweet wheat porridge that's cooked all night and stirred by the women taking turns, with songs. It's the best thing I've eaten since we arrived, and I don't know what's in it. I was too embarrassed to ask twice.
Midnight Mass was packed, standing room only, and half the Iradis wore their best chapan with a fur collar. The choir sang "Silent Night" in English, and then in Iradi, and then, to my surprise, in what I think was Syriac. I'm not Catholic enough to know whether that's allowed. It sounded right.
At home: tree from a pot (we found a fir at the nursery on the highway strip, $14), stockings on the porch rail, a long call to Ohio. Lily asked if Santa has the right visa. I said Santa has an excellent visa.
Merry Christmas to everyone back home.
No turkey at the bazaar. They sell geese, ducks and chickens, but no turkey. The base commissary had a few frozen ones and I stood in line for forty minutes with a hundred other wives. We got one. It cost $38, and I think that's a record.
We invited Chynara and her husband Mirbek (a base electrician who works with Mark), plus Linda's family. Chynara brought a large round bread and a bowl of boorsok. She asked what we were thankful for, and Sam said "no school today", and Mirbek said, very seriously, "this is a good tradition."
After the pie, Mirbek told Mark a story about the winter of 1992 that I didn't catch all of. Mark told me later it was about a siege. I'll ask him again some other day.
We decided to give out candy, since the kids are here and it's home. Linda taught the Iradi guard and his kids what trick-or-treat means, and by 6 p.m. there were forty children at our door. Most of them Iradi, from the lanes across the road, dressed as wolves, the Iradi flag (!), one in a kalpak with a plastic sword. A girl of about six said "Trick or treat" like a prayer.
We ran out at 7:30. Mark went to the garage and found a bag of old candy from the move. Sorry, kids.
