Painting Lady Part Deux

Today I walked into the kitchen, more confidently, having grown accustomed to the staff, and they having grown accustomed to me. The painting lady was at the table and saw me uncover the box of chocolate covered dried apricots, figs and plums that I bought at the famous Grand Candy shop in Yerevan. Everyone started enjoying it with their afternoon coffee.

An hour later we had another celebration, a colleague had bought two fancy cakes and put them on the table. I was one of the first to enter the kitchen for the afternoon treat and she was standing by the sink. For some reason I have failed to learn hello in Armenian, only thank you, because it is the same in Iran, mersi. SO I just say “hello” with an honest smile on my face. She returns my greeting with her own sweet smile and then asks me a question. I can tell the way her face says “why” that she is asking how I fit in this world, being from the US. She wants to know where I am from, I guess and I say “Iran.”

Then a colleague comes into the kitchen and she starts translating. “where did you grow up is your family Iranian?”
“ the US, my parents are Iranian.”
“She says that no matter where someone is born, their culture, can grow inside of them and show. She says she loves Iranian culture, and history.”

Having an opportunity to look at her closely during the conversation, I see how young she is despite her gray hair and small body. Her face is very expressive. My mother once told me that the way people act in their old age reflects how happy they were in their life. The painting lady smiles as if she was always very happy.

Last night my colleague told me that she paints because her church is teaching her to paint the saints. She was a computer technician during the Soviet times.