"Give a man a gun and he can rob a bank. Give a man a bank and he can rob the world."Read:THE SPEECH by Bernie Sanders, write to every politician you can get an address for, we need to remind those we have sent to DC who they work for. We need to remind our local governments we are not falling for this game. The settlements and bailouts only serve the criminals who robbed America. They are a way of obfuscating the process of justice, so criminals can save face or look like heroes.Watch: Charles Ferguson's film "Inside Job" - full version available here thanks to The Other School of Economics and Charles Ferguson: http://www.theotherschoolofeconomics.org/?p=2499 Remember- the 1% are wealthy beyond reason not because they deserve it- but because of US.

orchid i snapped at Longwood Gardens this winter bonsai Pomegranate tree also at Longwood Gardens Well, we are all about to get up to our crazy New Year's rituals. We will slip and slide through the bends of time and watch the night transform us into 2012! I have this vision of the undulating pathways of people and how they overlap. The near misses and the ones who never overlap. Just this buzzing orb of human light...twisting to the quick end. Breathing in energetic collisions and resonating with the ones we happen to meet.

If you find comfort in chaos or comfort in patterns, undoubtedly this year will find some mischief for you to get into.We all like to unleash the crazy and sweat it all out from time to time on the dance floor. And we all need to look inward and look up to each other so we can feed our vision of community. I wish you love, will, poetry, art, music, inspiration, power, and clarity. The SUNLIGHT is coming back.

This year was split in halves for me. The first half in Armenia, the second in the USA. I am slowly rising into the memory of who I was and discovering who I have become. Armenia is part of me for the rest of my days. It has been a beautiful challenge to attempt to find how this new piece will come to fit. All of those experiences of 26 months of my life seem, now, in fragmented pill form thoughts that arise throughout each day. This photo sums it up- the power of the pomegranate- as a fruit, as a spirit power, as a national symbol (in Armenia). The trunk stunted as a magically crafted bonsai- but the fruit still exploded full size unable to help itself, it had to survive and thrive in the form known within it for centuries.

Forward on!

~ Zoe H. Armstrong

small business in upstate NY supports Occupy movement, Nov 2011 I just sat there simply, a blanket on the lawn, delighted smile on my face, giggling from the love I felt from Mom and Dad. I was probably a little over one year old - judging by my plump innocent skin in the photograph. I was soft, clean, unpolluted. I had not yet experienced assholes at school; not yet struggled through the long period of dating men in folly when I could have exclusively been with women/queers; I was not yet aware of the corrupt power structures that would rule me; and I had not yet felt the gripping anxiety of long stretches of unemployment or towering medical bills. I was just there - experiencing. I was a precious human lump of love and potential. I was on the baby ride! A time in life when the lucky get to say, "Weeee, this is fun, everyone seems to be really into how cute I am, I am a singular cause of delight and wonder - neato!!"

If we humans only would continue to be so kind to each other; as we are to infants. But alas, only a few teenagers want to be cooed over and what adult wants to be infantalized? So, here we are, sarcastic, grumpy, competitive, cold, and anxiety ridden. Yes, I am over simplifying - just let me get this out!

I've woken up to age 34. That is, I am in a period of assessment and opportunity. Scouring the Earth for employment has forced my mind to reconsider my potential. This thought pattern has led me back to a photo of myself at age 1. I was sitting on the aforementioned white blanket with little turquoise roses. It had been made by a Greek family who used to live next to my parent's flower shoppe. When I was born the Kokoras's were elated that my parents, attempting the unique, decided to name me Zoe - a Greek name! I used to run my fingers over the embroidered lettering of my name and date of birth. I got the message that these things were important to the people around me.

Now when I hear "name and date of birth," I flash to phone calls with doctor's offices and labs. The might and ecstasy of my human potential became muddled along the way, as occurs to most. Changing interests and career paths is quite normal - but who actually finds comfort in the fact that one's current level of indecision is reflected in the masses?!

I'm educated, but not too educated.

Radical, but not too radical.

Old, but not too old.

Healthy, but not too healthy.

Qualified, but not too qualified.

Picky, but not too picky.



Am I just in some grayed-out, in-between where the unlucky get mired in the jungle of the job search? Or is poverty being offered to me as an inspiration to be my own entrepreneurial boss?

I have not applied for food-stamps or unemployment benefits - yet - but I understand why people do. When you have to choose between fuel for your car or groceries this week things can become tense.

I have ambitions and am usually quite driven. I resent this mass slow down. I understand why people are Occupying Wall Street and I also understand why many apathetically ignore the movement.

There is so much good work happening out there. So many efforts to uplift and empower. It is all a matter of time. In my moments of patience I realize I will have a job and look back on this time as a blip. But I have a great sense of empathy for people who are unemployed for long stretches. People who don't want to ignore their earned and expensive education credentials and go to work at a chain restaurant or department store. It is humiliating and insulting.

I guess we are getting a spoon-fed, small, taste of what educated people in less developed nations have felt for decades: They are underused in their societies, undervalued by their governments, and either stay in poverty or leave in hope.

I have left America before. I'm choosing to stay - so far - this time. I am enjoying the rising quality of political discourse. The Occupy movement has forced those in power to have to publicly grapple with the crimes of 2008 and Washington, DC has been caught with it's pants down. A spirit of transparency in DC and an informed populace could begin a tide shift in the USA- despite our amazing ability to look away while we are sold to the highest bidder.

In the meantime: the very last of the kale is being harvested, lots of seaweed is being eaten, I've made sure to get my DemocracyNow!, Project Censored, and sleuth out the other truth tellers. The migrating Canadian geese have been wildly trying to tell us something - like, "we have been saying this a long time, why are people suddenly listening?"

Dad and Joe in Dexter

Dad in the Balsam rows Me presenting a bowline knot used for bundling greens

Hunting season - time to don our florescent orange hats and sweatshirts and take to the woods to harvest balsam fir boughs. I still have the use of the cozy bright sweatshirt my Grammie used to wear and my Dad was thrilled to find beanies, actually USA made, for all of us at Reny's. The hunter's orange, as it is called, conjures up quite a bit of street cred in rural Maine. My Dad shares ownership of a Balsam plantation north of us in central Maine, up in the Dexter township. At the local deli, where they also sell guns, I have never gotten such warm dazzled looks from the local boys. Their radar was on me, as I appeared to be a rare breed: female hunter. One man asked me, "How's the huntin' out the-ah?" When I gently broke the news that we were just tippin' balsam greens the mystique was broken. Then the gaze shifted, as if I was the enemy, not only a non-hunter but a possible anti-hunting type. But at least I was still working at an honest Maine living. I could just feel all that from the room. The unspoken dance of the social caste system in Maine. One day I was stacking firewood on our land and I heard shots being fired in the back acreage. We have posted "No Hunting" signs but with 175 acres it is hard to keep up with the signage. So I put on my florescent orange hat, as if it were bullet proof, and charged into the woods on our AMT. Full throttle it probably goes 15 MPH. I did not encounter any hunters but after my motor zooming out and honking the horn I cut the engine long enough to hear the shooting had subsided. So I went back to the house full of adrenaline and hopeful I had made it before any deer were killed. Every year a few people get shot during hunting season, you can count on it. This year's first happened the first week of hunting season, he was a hunter, in his 50s, and he was wearing florescent orange. Just the reality of rural living around here. Hunting season also means we just finished up with Halloween and are on to planning Thanksgiving. The holiday season seems a surreal exercise this year after 2 years surrounded by different traditions in Armenia. I am excited for the cooking and connecting with my family. I want to attempt to keep it simple this year and actually enjoy the spirit of the holidays. The magic of this transitional time that I refuse to ever stop believing in. Seems appropriate with all the Occupy movements coming together. It is a time to renew and redefine what American citizens actually want. We need to look each other in the eye and see past our hate and work with each other to build up this momentum and use it to influence our leaders. They need to be shown that ignoring us will not make our voices diminish. And ignoring us will certainly not do anything to ensure a sound future - be it related to economics, liberties, climate change, war, or healthcare.

Back in the good old USA for 51 days now, since finishing up my Peace Corps service in Armenia. The mental tide is high and the transition is deep. There of course are the daily logistics of transportation, looking for jobs, and figuring out what to wear. Then there are the bigger questions of trying to find a cell phone carrier that doesn't turn my stomach or trying to pay for health care without getting an ulcer from the loss of so much capital. I love the food as expected and my new deepened sense of gratitude for the rural Maine community I grew up in.

The politics and the economic reality are bleak and exhausting. I can only tune in to the radio as the television has gone completely mad and is so out of touch with reality it is disorienting. I listen to NPR often but it does not feel the same to me. It feels some piece of their soul is gone. I prefer listening to WERU or any station that airs Democracy Now's War and Peace Report. Thank goodness radio stations are available online now so I can hear WERU whenever I am near a computer. Chris Hedges' book, Death of the Liberal Class, seems to be popular in lefty circles these days and I can only hope some righties will read it too due to the title.

Vermont is flooded and Texas is burning. There have been a couple hurricanes, a little hail there, a little tornado here, and a 6 point earthquake in Indonesia. I try to just picture the Earth dancing a bit in orbit but it is all unsettling. I guess it would be less unsettling if global climate change was a universally accepted reality and we were not still in the 'let's try to convince them' stage. We need to be in the 'let's get some serious shit done' stage. I met some farmer's in rural NY who call their farm UPRISING FARM. Appropriate name on multiple levels. It made me think of Vermont's famous Bread & Puppet art that deems growing one's own row of beets a revolutionary act.

I am sure you can tell by my tone the mess of this place is mixing in my spirit. I am in contemplation of many things. Some of the mess is crucial to pay attention to and some of it is a waste of mental space. All of it makes me want to apply for Canadian citizenship. Time will tell.

Specifically, identity has been coming up as a concept for me a lot lately- as it did when I first went to Armenia. We spend much of our crusading youth and formation twenties trying to define our identity. Cultural collisions bend identity and at times break it to bits to be reformed. Ultimately what do we identify with or as? The trees? Our community? Our politics? Our fashion? Our philosophy? Stardust? I guess it depends on the day of the week. People are proud of their identities, they have found a form from which to live that serves their highest ethics. I still feel like a shape shifter- at the risk of sounding like a flighty white unemployed east coast lesbian with too much time on her hands. So many categories to choose from. So many lies.

I am step by step getting the hang of this America dance once again. Trying to choose a direction, delicately and gently. Thanks friends, for spinning along. ~Zoe H. Armstrong

gate view on my street

My neighborhood is alive with all the children newly freed from the routine of school. I did not know so many lived on my block, or in my building even, as they are kept so tightly inside the school-to-home routine. There have been many weddings this spring and I have a front row seat as I live directly across from an event hall. Armenian wedding music has a pulse and intensity that drives on for hours. It is highly repetitive pre-recorded music which matches well with the exact cadence of Armenian dancing. Yesterday was Saturday and I was home tending to things - laundry, dishes, sweeping, cooking, scrap booking and the music just went all day. I peeked to see who was dancing throughout the event and there were only a few diehards that went to the end...but then the music kept playing...and no one was there. I assume they feel this keeps a sense of celebration in the neighborhood, that this music sparks something elating in everyone that my westernized brain can only translate as cacophony. Today's event features a lamenting call of an anguished love, song after song, a droning heart wrenching ache - they love this music here.

in the hills looking toward Goris The mountains have found their summer voice again with all the bird calls. These green hills with very little forest offer home to a wide range of song birds. Armenia's bird population is very high compared to many regions of the world. There have also been reports this year that the snake population is doing very well. Our most famous is the viper. I saw an elder man holding two vipers by the neck in one hand and a shovel in the other. Cringe. I got to see the dead dangling vipers up close, their heads do look very menacing- sort of an angular boxy shape- like a small fortress with fangs. They are poisonous so I wear hiking boots and jeans when I trot in to the hills for some sun and scenery.

detail from mural at my friends' bar I recently was in Yerevan for my exit interview with our Country Director and final medical appointments. I had my fix of expensive but very yummy city food, including a restaurant that is across from the Peace Corps office. It is a converted house, lots of wood work, classy but not too expensive. I cannot believe I never went there before. They have a goat cheese salad that reminded me of some of my favorite spots in Midcoast Maine. I spent some days reconnecting with Yerevan friends who I had not seen in quite sometime. A few of the more artsy revolutionary types have got together and created a small relaxed queer friendly bar called D.I.Y. Yes this name does stand for the English "do it yourself," which is their philosophy. Armenia could use a great deal more of the "do it yourself" spirit. This reflects the younger generations being ready to seize the day in a way that perhaps older generations here had trained out of them from a very specific upbringing in the Soviet Union. Armenia has been a tremendous lesson for me in the importance of personal responsibility- whether it be for one's family, profession, or country - having passion for what we do and working hard for what one believes. Personal responsibility must come from within, if it is dictated by the state then personal choice, freedom of expression, and independent thought start to diminish in people.

This week my site mate and I are collaborating to teach intensive 4 day English workshops with a focus on skill identification and civic engagement. It is the last large activity I will create at the Goris Women's Development Resource Center Foundation. I can feel my time here coming to a close. The news headlines I read from home paint a picture that does not reflect the discourse of my generation. With hopeful vision we acknowledge the difficulties and actively seek to create better systems and methods for our world. The outgoing PCVs have never been more aware of our privilege while we consider all of our options for jobs, school, and geography. Most of the people we have made community with these past two years will never leave the specific roles and opportunities afforded them by being born in Armenia.

Large lizard in hills of Old Goris My site mate Chris has moved in to my apt so we get to share some space and time before I leave. He is staying on, doing a research extension for 6 months. He has taught many classes at my NGO. Whenever we talk about our time here dividing away, we both give witness to what a profoundly unique experience this has been and how much we have learned. I am sure we have emotional days ahead, which will include goodbyes with people we may never see again.

I've been back from Tbilisi a while now...this is a free write...the view that remains in my mind of that subtle switch from water color to oil paint...similar canvass...different texture.

There is this one tree on the side of a mountain, on the border of Armenia and Georgia, you will never see it. Beautiful mangled branches that guard a change in the scent of the wind but not its direction. On the actual space the border occupies farms are flat, broken by a blip of capitalism and a blond police woman who laughs and suggests we should be afraid of her...as we show our American passports...and are told to stop video taping as the police snap photos of our greasy marshutnied (mini bus weary) faces...

Just before Palm Sunday our hostel neighborhood was a bustle with sales of flower bundles and pussy willows. I was struck by the color in Tbilisi, variety and even diversity of people. In Tbilisi we soaked in flavors that Yerevan does not seem to quite get right...gelato, pizza, bookstores - tourism really- I have to acknowledge that I was successfully being bought.

My most cathartic experience was going to a cinema that showed films with English subtitles a few days a week.We saw a Brazilian film in Portuguese about Jews in the 70s...it was profound to state a surface reaction. The catharsis came as a realization that in my 'normal' life- whenever that was - I used to have foreign films in my life at independent theatres a couple times a month. So I have been away from that life for over 2 years. I felt a depth of appreciation for cinema. Gratitude found me in honor of so many people who do not have this type of transformative experience available to them. When I cried during the story in the film, wept really, I was also crying for those who cannot cry in this way- from this medium. I cried for artless lives. I do not mean people who have chosen following the NFL over going to galleries. I cried for people trapped in a life who survive every day but do not know the world and have actually had the arts kept from them by powers beyond their control...powers that I have the privilege to be able to see. Arguing if this privilege is a blessing or a curse is for another day. I remain in the knowledge is power camp.

Georgia is very anti-Russia, as we all know, which is quite a different vibe than in Armenia. This is a simple statement that encompasses many complex worlds/ethnicities/histories/economies. Corruption seems to be a post-Soviet pattern...and yes, at times it just feels like an overall human trait. That said there are levels...and in Armenia and Georgia the level is high. There is a problem of leadership...there seems to be a classic brain drain here- I have to say it. Sometimes the best and brightest do return to serve the region but the jobs they fall in to under use them or corrupt them- or at very least piss them off.

My American brain is starting to take over my existence again...which usually equals crappy writing ahead. I am moments away from the sunrise in Goris, Armenia...so I am off to gaze in to the horizon.

UPDATE: The horizon was filled with fog and silence. I filled my head with "Alors On Danse" and watched the fog slowly brighten from dark grey to a white mist that is seducing green from spring leaves of the high deciduous branches. After inhaling chemical smoke from burning trash I will soon find my bed. The birds are coming to life.

I had the deeply emotional version of the inevitable realization: once I leave Armenia I will probably never see the women I've worked with again in my life. I have grown to love each of them and care profoundly deeply about their lives. I have the highest hopes for all of them. They are my sisters - I am speaking of those I have worked most closely with in my last 23 months in Armenia. They are a large and diverse family of individual Armenian women who live in Goris, Khot, Halidzor, Shinuhayr, Tatev, Verishen, Khnzoresk,Tegh, Kapan, Meghri, Sisian, Yeghegnadzor, Djermuk, Vayk, Vanadzor, Stepanavan, Berd, Noyembrian, Sevan, Dilijan, Gyumri, and of course Yerevan. My love for them is a gift I will carry with me the rest of my life. One of the most meaningful tricks of Peace Corps service is that more and more Americans come to care about all these lives in the balance "out here" who are effected by our foreign policy decisions. The great unnamed that many in my life have termed, "out there" "them countries" …the unnamed solidifies for a PCV very intimately and tangibly. "Out there" has a face and a name...and an ability to be our friend or partner or colleague. On the flip side of this thought process America ceases to be the center of the universe. America becomes one on a list of many precarious countries. I will leave this summer with a deepened commitment to community development and sense of gratitude for what we have in the USA that is hard to express. For many Armenia is not even on the map. I have had the unparalleled opportunity to stand with this struggling nation. A cascade of faces fills my mind…grandfathers selling sunflower seeds, grandmothers packing firewood in wood stoves, children sharing one soccer ball for an entire neighborhood, struggling artists screaming out the birth of a movement, women sharing stories with each other and raising their voices, university students exploring news realms of thought, unemployed men standing dressed in black in packs smoking on the corner, teachers inspiring the youth…the list goes on. Being here has been an education in Post-Soviet realms. The American educational system is lacking in anything much to do with Russia or anything that ever was touched by the USSR. Armenia is one in a gaggle of cement dust countries trying to create capitalism as a new economic paradigm, even as they see it fail around the world. It is a nation that strives toward democracy while its journalists are still often jailed and voting systems contain a level of corruption that may even trump that of the USA- as the Armenian mafia is alive and well and Armenia truly remains an Oligarchy. There are days that feel helpless and hopeless and many Armenians leave or simply live in a constant state of striving to leave. The educational system here has not been identified as a priority for State funding and its quality suffers greatly from that neglect. When I awake each day I look out to this southern Armenian snippet of the triumphantly gorgeous Caucasus Mountain Range. I heat up herbal tea with natural gas. I grab a sweater to protect me from the chill of cement apartment walls. I walk a half block passed stacks of firewood, store owners in skirts unpacking distributed goods for their stores, children playing in the lazy streets, a military office, a bread baker – then I arrive in my office. It has gated windows and a computer lab and a small library. We have been funded as many NGOs in Armenia through outside funding. Our primary source is OSCE as I have mentioned before. People are curious what we do here and they come in for information and classes. Many women have to reorient their thought processes of what advocacy for women even means. Armenia knows waiting. It waits, patiently and impatiently depending on the mood of the day. It waits for the seasons and sky to change. It waits for a hand up. It waits for isolation to diminish. There is no clear path to any progress, it comes in bursts. Plans are made and foiled and made again. There is not so much hope in the trying but more of understanding that one must go on. Armenia must rise and set with the sun and keep up forward momentum even if at a meditative pace. I have walked side by side with these citizens at this pace. It is careful and gentle and yes a bit complacent. I have learned to observe in a still manner attempting to see through Armenian eyes. When I talk to grandmothers chewing seeds with gold teeth their eyes tell me that their experience, their years of witnessing and waiting, hold a complexity my American upbringing grasps to know. I have about three months left to take this place in to my being. Three months more to watch the shifting light on the mountains. Three months more to support the growing talents of my Armenian colleagues. Three months more to wait before I thrust myself back to the rush of the USA. One of my Armenian coworkers in there now, for her first visit. I will hear of her reaction today, I am curious, on the flip side, what she saw.

This article was written for our Gender Awareness Development Newsletter here at Peace Corps Armenia, I wanted to share with my blog friends...

On December 10, 2010 I was invited to represent the USA for an International Roundtable on Domestic Violence. Inspired by their series about Women’s Rights this event was organized by Anet Shamirian of the Women’s Resource Center of Armenia in Yerevan, who helped represent Armenia. Iran was represented by Lernik Hayrapetian; India by Santush Kumari; France by Meline Ter Minassian; and England by Talin Aghanian. Approximately 25 women attended the discussion; including participants from nine countries. As Domestic Violence remains a significant barrier to many people’s lives, having this space to share and learn from each other was extremely valuable to the professional goals of all in the room. Listening to new perspectives and hearing real life stories made the phenomena tangible. Our talks inspired further development of educational materials, activities, advocacy, crisis care centers, and community support. Perhaps the most important element of the evening was the dynamic cross-cultural exchange that occurred. Comparing realities we were able to span a century of development in human rights. We celebrated the role of active citizens working for positive and incremental change. We looked at failures head on. We gave a voice to citizens who live in villages, we gave a voice to those the government is failing, we gave a voice to women who are still dismissed as second class citizens in some nations. We strategized how governments, organizations, and individual citizens can improve their advocacy roles and create systems of real support for domestic violence victims. Many women do not know their rights or have no recognized voice in their society. In Iran women cannot hold positions of power. In India girls are often banned from village schools. In France people rely too heavily on government programs and police- citizens have become complacent. In the UK they spend 40 billion pounds per year trying to combat domestic violence. Armenia has a lack of abuse shelters in the regions and often domestic violence victims cannot find safety. In the USA victims often do not understand civil liberties and do not know how to advocate for themselves. The panel also spoke about social pressures to stay silent, the power given to husbands over wives, economic pressures, and the rights of children. It was a discussion in honor of human rights and honoring all women and challenges faced internationally. We left knowing there was much work to be done and a family of united support on the same path.

By: Zoe H. Armstrong A17 Peace Corps Volunteer, Community and Business Development sector, Goris, Armenia

For more information please check out the WRCA activities page: www.womenofarmenia.org

There is something about the combination of film editing and being in Yeghegnadzor that allows me the reflective mind space to write my blog. The combination of inspired friendships and Radio Lab talking about the merits of hook worms colonizing one’s gut seems to be the perfect fodder. You know, I think it is fair to speculate that Peace Corps Volunteers may have a higher chance, than your average American citizen, to attain a hook worm gut population for free. It is a major perk of the job; I won’t try to sell you the health benefits of hook worm right now; you can research that yourself.We are here with Emily and Meag again. My site mate, Chris from Khot Village outside of Goris, came with me.[Side note: I visited Chris at his school in Khot recently and enjoyed witnessing how different Peace Corps service is in a classroom with young students]. We four are mining through a mountain of film clips for gold to weave into a documentary about Peace Corps Armenia. March 1, 2011 is the US Peace Corps’ 50th Anniversary; so we hope to début our film for celebrations around the globe. Lahst Mtn Winter 2011 In Goris our pyramid like Lahst Mountain has been snow covered and looming in majestic gray over our little town. The black and white striped terraces of the slope rise to meet the moon and the sun and the storms. The roads iced over from tundric wind induced snow drifts blocking the mountain passes, I wouldn’t even have noticed except I was trying to get to a meeting in Yerevan – which I had to forgo. My taxi driver was determined to get going down the highway but when the police ordered the sand trucks to turn back I was rest assured Mother Nature had won the day and we would go back to our cozy homes. My site mate, Michael from Tatev Village outside Goris, was also trapped in Goris so we made four days of it. The TV series Mad Men helped pass the time, we also made pizza and had other fun kitchen time, Michael is a graduate of Julliard and treated me to some piano playing on my clunky out of tune piano that rests unused under my humble book collection.

Site mates: Patrick & Meaghan - married couple who will extend their

service to Mongolia this spring. [Exiting abandoned church ruins].Liana's father with her and I in background.Besides the film my work has been primarily focused on fine tuning aspects of the handicrafts project. As I enter into having around six months left in my service I am thinking with intensive focus about what I hope to accomplish before I depart. By this point I am very clear about what can not be accomplished and it helps put into perspective how to best spend each week. I have been enjoying friendship with my neighbors and becoming closer with my Armenian and American colleagues.Tree outside of abandoned church

in Old Goris village.A few weeks back one of my Armenian counterparts came by to share a glass of wine and introduce me to a man named Tigran who helps run the cable car that was built from Halidzor Village to Tatev Village. It is a billion dollar project that seems an excessive monolith over mountain peaks and valleys most of the world will never know of yet alone see. As we rode we were surrounded by majestic views of winter mountains and the rising towers of Tatev monastery. The birds eye perspective is certainly unique here; especially for a populace with a very low percentage of citizens who fly. I recall being struck by my counterpart Anna’s reaction, “I feel like I have been reborn.”Long winter continues in Armenia, although compared to the East Coast and Europe the weather has been very mild. The hills are still covered in snow but we tromp through a mix of slush and mud. Occasional patches of grass are revealed; subtle signs of the spring to come and the transitions waiting on that horizon. ~ Zoe H. Armstrong A17 PCV

Emily's garden I am visiting two volunteers in Yeghegnadzor, a small town about 90 minutes north of me. Emily was busy augmenting some Armenian designs in Adobe Illustrator so I bopped out to buy our groceries for supper. Sometimes it takes leaving my Peace Corps home post of Goris to remember where I actually am. In town I gathered smiles and greetings from various stores and vegetable stands. I didn't manage to find the raisins we had wanted for our curry. In trade for that minor disappointment I wanted one single bell pepper and was met with an, "anush lini" which technically means 'let it be sweet' - but in this case also had the added cultural connotation that buying one pepper is sort of strange. Usually folks buy a kilo...'if you are only gonna buy one, you may as well just take it.' After a brief and pleasant jaunt through town I made my way up the hill on dirt pathways that wind their way in between people's properties. I came around the bend to a lane that connects to Emily's by the back garden gate. I was immediately met with two elder widows, in the lane burning leaves. The smoke created an atmosphere of timelessness. It felt to me these people had been playing out this routine for centuries. The two talked in a low grumble as they worked with each other keeping the fire under control and sweeping more leaves into the pile with straw brooms. I was behind people's houses in a lane that connects all of their backyards and gardens. Rusty gates and rickety fences precisely divide each small plot of land; each family. I felt I was witnessing the storybooks of my childhood come to life. As I strolled along on the Autumn leaves crunching beneath my feet, I saw an old man in his yard placing his pitchfork against a leaning shed. He was done for the day, heading inside. I fidgeted with the hefty chunk of iron that is the Soviet Era padlock on the garden gate and clumsily made my way onto the garden path. Armenian figs I followed the thin line of cement to the door, making my way through chickens of tan, white, black, and brown. Inside we three Americans - Emily, Meag, and Zoe - sat down to the smells of curry to compare notes about the day. We are good family and we live, sometimes as alien observers, back in time.

Zoe's artsy photo attempt of flowers during stroll in the hills of Goris.

Four months of no blog posts, it is time to check back in. It is day 13 of my 18th month in Armenia. I have about nine months to go before I give birth to whatever Zoe will find herself in USA re-entry.

The community is abustle preparing for the coming winter.

Today a crew of local men are busy chopping a mountain of firewood in the courtyard of my apartment complex. One of whom is my old host brother from last winter, Kahren. His house does not have a wood burning stove, he is just doing this for work. I don't know where they cut these logs from. The large cargo truck full of trees is a sad sight, judging by the rings most of them appear to be over 100 years old. There are so few forests left here I cringe when I see truck loads like this. There is an Environmental Education volunteer in our new class whom I hope to collaborate with to get the Armenian Tree Project in a local village here. The planting will help stop erosion of hillsides that could bury people's houses in a bad mudslide. http://www.armeniatree.org/

At the Goris Women's Development "Resource Center" Foundation we have been focusing most of our efforts on expanding our handicrafts coalition "Skillful Hands." We are collaborating with the not-for-profit Homeland Handicrafts network of artisans throughout Armenia. This project helps create jobs for unemployed women, expands markets for the arts, honors traditional design and technique, and provides educational opportunities in product development and finance. Check us out: www.homelandhandicrafts.org .

PCVs sitting on wall of Tatev Monastery: Michael, Chris, Zoe, Joy I have given financial trainings and have helped out with product development trainings. The response has been positive and coming in to the holiday season we are hoping to see some sales. The profits at the Goris Women's Development "Resource Center" Foundation go toward the sustainability of our NGO. Our very ability to function is in play as our major financial contributor, OSCE (Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe) will pull much of our funding next year; we need to become more self-sufficient. http://www.osce.org/yerevan/

The end of November the Peace Corps holds our All-Volunteer Conference in the capital, Yerevan. We go to a hotel for methodology trainings and for our Thanksgiving feast. Volunteers cook all our favorite American dishes and all swoon with nostalgia for a day.

When we return to our sites we settle in for winter or those volunteers who have money tend to travel to Turkey, Russia, Greece, Albania, France, UAE, India, Thailand, USA, etc... If I can even make it to Georgia (a very inexpensive trip) I will feel blessed. I do not have the cash to fly anywhere and am looking forward to focusing my energies in my community of Goris for the remainder of my service.

I would like my next project to be the organization of a Domestic Violence Awareness Day here at the center in Goris. Another volunteer in my sector, Community and Business Development, held a successful one recently in Gyumri, northern Armenia. I am feeling inspired that she found a receptive audience; not to be taken for granted around any controversial issues. There are many people in Armenia who do not acknowledge DV as a reality or a problem. For some it is seen as a bi product of marriage or child rearing. Education on this issue is very important, as identified by the United Nations and what we as Americans would consider common sense.

Members of our Young Leadership Club at the GWDRCF. That is it for a basic work update for now, I'll write again soon with more personal tales. Fair thee well until next time.

Today marks the one year anniversary for the A17 class of Peace Corps Volunteers in Armenia. It is a good feeling to reflect upon this wheel that has turned me and churned me beyond my expectations and imaginings. No matter the ups and downs we have all come to accept Armenia as our home. Our hearts know the danger in this, accepting a home that ultimately will be left behind. People and landscapes that are now integrating into my psyche will become part of the fabric of who I am. As with my time in other places I have really let in, like Indonesia, India, and Sri Lanka - this place has opened me. And as you know I came into this world a fairly open model of human to begin with. Being stretched and challenged and humbled resets the mechanisms of a person. This is why when I return home it feels so raw and awkward. This is why every relationship changes and why new frontiers again seem appealing. The souls whom I love are scattered all over the planet, many I will never see again, and they will never meet eachother. They are my wandering family, our home is "out here." : wherever and whyever the journey may take us. It is Summer in Armenia right now and the sunny days have been soul food recovering from a long winter that cut deep. Today I am wearing sparkly red flip flops and have plans to eat ice cream and fresh local strawberries for the second day in a row. I have a grant to work on but I cannot muster the energy to be stressed, a deep relaxation has taken over, which is a lovely surprise. I don't have anything of consequence to say today. I had to acknowledge this one year arrival back to the start of the game. From here we have 15 more months in our service term. As the photo indicates I live in a neighborhood of wool right now. Women wash it and beat it with sticks to get it clean, then leave it to freshen and dry in the sun. Some of it will make for cozy mattresses and some of it will be spun into yarn. I tend toward philosophy not anthropology in my writings and I know you all are just wondering where the bleep I actually am. I guess I am trying to get the point across that despite fleeting fascination with the external hows and whys - we are all on a little speck swirling and the feeling of unity is perhaps the best gift I could ever send home. Sirov (with love), Zoe

Andrei Bitov’s A Captive of the Caucasus has a chapter that brings me great comfort as of late, it is called “The Phenomenon of the Norm.” Here are a few highlights that will help ease you into the reading of my tower of words that ensue. My simple hope is the acquisition of your empathy followed by your own chaotic ponderings…z

* “When you try to prove that something is something, you lose it completely.”

* “It is common knowledge that children, like dogs, have an aversion to abnormality – to freaks, drunks, fakes. In this they are categorical and severe. Their sense of the norm is keen. Devoid of humanism.”

* “Grant I shall not lose my mind…what constitutes normality in this world is quite unclear. Ideally it would seem to be a total correspondence, an involvement with us personally. Because if a thing is capable of corresponding to us, this is evidence, first and foremost, of our norm. We discover how unsure we are of our norm – we don’t know where it lies. We’re holding on with our last strength, keeping up appearances. I mean the higher, palpitating norm, the delicate balance, the pause in flight, when the joy of life is not yet lost, and at the same time you are capable of losing it at any moment, but you go on living and living in this unstable and dynamic equilibrium. The form of feeling in which you almost lose your senses.”

***~Andrei Bitov

May 2010 has been a month of redefinings. You know those free spirit crazies who drive around liberal USA communities with their “Question Everything” or “Question Reality” bumper stickers? We think they are inarticulate, stoned, or oversimplifying. I am now convinced they are on to something quite profound. We all live within a matrix of thought, and yes, overlapping matrixes even.

When we awaken each day we rise to our own understandings of where we are, how we relate to the phenomenological world we’ve inherited, and how – specifically – we relate to our families, friends, neighbors, co-workers, strangers. Concepts such as culture, society, language, and social norms come to mind. There are myriad unseen agreements that we have made with eachother that create our experiential milieu. Our ethics as a society seem inherent and obvious. Our basic values are so general, so normal, that we discard them from conscious thought. They are the fabric with which our communities are made and every cell of our being takes them for granted.

I do not mean heavily debated values in the political arena. I am speaking of much more basic sentiments that we barely know are in us. Sentiments reflected in how we use language are closer to what I am getting at. This “reality” thing is touchy business and I am trying to slowly take you into my tunnel of thought here so you do not discard this process as obvious. It is anything but and frankly if I don’t make your head spin I have not succeeded.

Every basic idea we take for granted as Americans is eventually blown out of the water here – or any other nation you immerse yourself in long enough.

Last week I agreed to facilitate a session on Gender Equality Issues in Armenia. Last week I agreed to torpedo my psyche into a boomerang mental mine field. I think this gender session concretely drove home the point to me that I am living in a completely different culture. You see I was fooled because outwardly Armenia seems quite “normal” ,that is, my “normal” as I know it in the USA rather than Armenian “normal” as they know it here. As an outsider I can see cues that seem familiar but the internal worlds of those around me are living somewhere I cannot see. I may get glimpses but it is a world I will never completely “know” – another controversial word ;)

The trick with norms is that they are fundamentally unseen, even though the evidence of them may be tangible at times. They exist inside the minds of the citizens of any nation. These collective mental matrixes create the diversity of all nations. Each country may as well be its own planet. Each country has an unseen agreement. The truth is on the inside of the world. Usually I would define the inside of the world as our mirrored response to love and pain. Usually I talk of the inside of the world from a spiritual standpoint, a place where we are all united, the sentiments of the heart that seem universal. But today I am seeing the inside of the world as the most basic place that separates us all. The inside of the world is where the deepest bloodiest boundaries exist between our abilities to orient to the worlds we are born in to.

“Ok Miss Blahh Blahh, so out with it already,” I hear you saying. Alright. Let us begin with the word “equality.” This was one of the most controversial sentiments of the entire session. In order for a nation to conceive of gender equality or inequality they must first be able to differentiate between at least two states of being, or experiences. Two or more options for a sense of reality as based in their individual experiences of gender. It is all a sticky web. You see “gender” was also a problematic word. In Armenia there is no separation between the idea of the sexes and gender. Generally, it is not their “norm” here to conceive of gender as an unseen state not rooted in biological indicators. It was a difficult task, at best, to try and describe gender as an intrinsic experience independent of body. In the west we are coming to see gender as a continuum and our bodies occupy whatever gender we happen to be born with. Many are discarding a gender binary altogether and others, like the regular folks who don’t discuss gender in an academic arena, at least can easily see gender as separate from sex even if they never really thought about it before. Which brings us to the concept of “abstract thinking,” people do not do this here- not like we do- they do not value it- not that they have considered it for evaluation- it just isn’t on the radar here.

This is a good place for me to point out something I feel is obvious but needs to be said. There are always exceptions. There are Armenians who think abstractly, there is an impressive intellectual tradition here, and there are past and present Armenian feminists too. I have learned in my year in Armenia that in America we are a nation of exceptions. In America the exception is the rule. In Armenia the rule is the rule, that’s it. In my attempt to understand gender through Armenian eyes- at least those of the people challenging me in the session- I had to retrace my steps in the development of my own personal learning curve about gender. I had to get back to the “cookie cutter” roles of boy/girl man/woman. This binary here seems to outline two pillars of strength. Two defined ways of going through the world with very specific expectations and not a lot of wiggle room. Many Armenians report finding comfort in the consistency of these roles. And yes, many Armenians report suffocating from familial expectations of them based on their gender. So yes, we see the confusion between sex and gender and we are coming back around to equality.

Where I come from equality is a frontier that is fought for, it is a good thing, a state sought and honored. This “norm” of American thinking is from various legacies in our history and also in how history of other nations was presented to us. Oh, honey, comparing history textbooks of multiple nations is a whole separate chapter- 1984 anyone? It is 1 am and I am trying to keep swimming down stream with you in tow, please bear with me, this is a lonely process and I appreciate your company.

The next few vocabulary hiccoughs that caused angst were: “change,” “upward mobility,” and “progress.” These all seem to imply a state that would be moved on from, which caused great confusion. The objectors could not see evidence of needing to do this. They were offended by the suggestions coming from an outsider- when I told them that most of what I was saying was being reiterated through my mouth from conversations I had with Armenians they softened, but skepticism stilled reigned supreme. Women were seen to be able to do anything they wanted with no acknowledgement of the (to me unnecessary) hoops that must first be jumped through before success, domestic violence was seen as not part of the culture- despite statistics to the contrary. Perhaps it is not part of the “culture” but simply evidence of the global union of idiots who hit people--? There was an assumption from the Armenians that I was a missionary for the American model of gender- but this was not my intent. I was trying to facilitate a conversation and out of 18 people in the room I was one of two Americans, so in theory we should have been outnumbered.

What I saw was a split in psychological responses to rural and urban life. There were rural folks who acknowledged the gender roles and saw them as “normal,” there were city folks who clung to the gender roles as righteous – that is to say there was a deep reflection of history and holding on to cultural roots. In turn there were city folks who could see the limitations of the gender roles and were frustrated by them and there were rural folks who were crazed by the gender roles as if awaiting the end of a jail sentence. So I think it is fair to say Armenians do not agree on this subject but they do agree on the subjectivity of every word involved. Huzzah!

The cherry on top of the sundae occurred today when I was speaking with an Armenian co-worker. We were talking about the dance club we want to create at the Goris Women’s Resource Center and I mentioned that I would volunteer to start as the dance teacher and then eventually everyone should teach in a rotating schedule. She burst out laughing, she dropped the book she was carrying, she had to stop and buckle over, her eyes teared up she was laughing so hard. You can imagine my curious surprise. When she recovered she explained to me that using the words “dance” and “teacher” together was an alien concept to her. Like dancing was inherent in the culture and facilitation of it would be a bit redundant. Again- America is a land of plurality and in Armenia the rule is the rule – or in this case the dance is the dance. So our dance club will also be a class in abstract pluralistic thinking I see!

I know I offended those I have not managed to confuse. I may revisit factions of this topic on a new day. This is a undulating train of thought that can never be completed- that is the trick of it- never ending redefinition leads to r-e-a-l-i-t-y dissolving and we all get to sit in silence a while. Bari gisher. (Good night).

Long Goneby Zoë H. Armstrong

A cloud hanging out with a mountain

I snuggle close to your crevasses

My mist and your soil intermingling

You know I must leave

and I know you must stay

But today my shadow is a blanketfrom the glaring pain of the Sun

The Sun melting away the protection of your snowy peaks

And you are my EarthHolding me close before

A L L T H I S S K Y

takes me.

In America

Sitting in the woods

Headlines and images from

magazines, news reports, new books

swirling in my head

Armenia left my head clear,

only full with mountains of monumental grace

In Armenia I bemoan controlled information

and lack of current media

This lack is seen as some marker of freedom not yet gained

In America all this freedom is

robbing my peace of mind

noise and static, debate and soundbytes erasing the snow capped peaks

Lack of freedom does not mean ignorance

anymore than having freedom means harboring intelligence

Freedom is a work in progress inside every mind,

not a concept determined by the whims of the State

Jigsaw puzzle pieces of America are one by one

replacing my Armenian mind-scape

But my body feels more like those mountains,

holding steady to the Earth

watching this child called America

watching temper tantrums, anxiety, guilt

Threading a needle on a wet crystal

gazing at frozen timber stands

Time has stopped

my mind is still at 8000 ft.

~Zoe H. Armstrong April 2010

The spell, the 10 month trick of this place, is about to be broken, if only briefly. My mind is standing on the edge of Armenia peering into America, scared to dip its toe in those old waters. I will go; it will be home and loved ones and the subtleties I do miss. It will be fast and full and then I will be back on a plane, again through Moskva, and then re-enter Armenia, not to leave for 16 months. When I was leaving the USA for Armenia I never could have predicted the effect this place would have on me. I never could have guessed how this place would change me and become part of me. It has refocused my existence inside of myself. There are truths that want to come bursting out. Thank you all in Armenia for the beautiful loving send off. I have had an amazing 4 days slowly leaving my new home. And America, our cat noses shall touch soon. LOVE, Zoë

Dear Ones, Today I received the second shipment of books via Gary at our beloved Gulf of Maine Books. I wish to extend a warm thank you from the girls, students, young women, women, and grandmothers whom I have the pleasure of working with here in Goris, Southern Armenia. Personally I cannot fully express how much it warmed my heart to see the names of familiar authors and poets. These books will remain at the Goris Women's Development Resource Center for our host country nationals to learn from and enjoy. All books, scant newspapers, and magazines found in Armenia are in Russian or Armenian, and I cannot express how thrilled all of the Peace Corps Volunteers in my area are that we may read some quality and inspiring writing in English also! There are eight of us in Goris and surrounding villages. We can bearly speak Armenian and our English is diminishing into small catch phrases and mixed grammar, so our brains will benefit from your generosity as well! I am so impressed by what books people chose to give. The Armenian's that use these books will have exposure to cutting edge literature, lyric and controvercial poets, and more female authors than I was presented with in school! The books you sent represent diversity, tolerance, respect and love of nature, activism, human rights, bravery, exploration, in essence- voices of the voiceless. There is no women's movement in Armenia, we are it, you are helping us plant seeds. There is a slowly growing network of NGOs, such as the one I work with, who are diligently working each day to strengthen the position of women in Armenia. 2010 is an exciting time to be here because I feel I am back in time, witnessing women on the frontlines of only a stirring of a movement yet to come. I work with the most progressive women in Armenia through the network of Women's Centers. The momentum is building and they understand the fight they have yet to face. Love from Armenia, Zoe Armstrong

Seeds of Diplomacy

Written by:

Zoë H. Armstrong

I have often felt that the Peace Corps would be more aptly named the Diplomacy Corps. The Peace Corps provides an opportunity for diplomatic exchange that immediately feeds the community being worked in as well as developing diplomatic sensibilities within the serving volunteer. The Peace Corps model of service provides tremendous opportunity for US citizens as well as for sustainable development concerns worldwide. Visionaries have seen that, internationally, strides in diplomacy and service need to be made. A step by step approach is in progress, one culturally literate advocate at a time, through organizations such as the Peace Corps and all other international field work that values foreign perspective and opinion.

By background a Peace Corps volunteer may be a scientist, researcher, dancer, journalist, engineer, teacher, business owner, librarian, public speaker, student, musician, community organizer, advertising executive, and so on. But any successful Peace Corps volunteer becomes, either acutely or in hindsight, an advocate, community liaison, intercultural communicator, public servant, and diplomat. We come to represent the United States to others and within ourselves more than perhaps we have ever been called to do before. This makes us reevaluate our relationship and understanding of the United States. It challenges us to listen to others as we wish to be listened to and to grapple with local concerns unselfishly with local values in mind.

The reputation of the Peace Corps is better now than it was in the past. People seem to understand that volunteers do offer culturally sensitive assistance and only go where they are asked for specific projects. We are not here to impose a way of life. In Armenia our work is often helping locals see their own talents. Post-Soviet worlds are broken worlds and on many levels it seems we point out the value in the Armenian culture that has been so trampled on throughout history. As in many Peace Corps countries, we are part of the feedback loop demonstrating the value in lost methodologies often passed down through families. We also introduce methods that have been successful for various sectors in the US while trying to exclude approaches that have failed.

I chose to apply to the Peace Corps because I wanted to work toward a more effective life of service in my professional career as an agent of change. I knew implementing sustainable development projects that uphold the rights of individual citizens in a region, with any level of success, takes tremendous organization, perseverance, finesse around corruption, and an ability to work interculturally. Having been in Armenia seven months I can honestly say I was surprised to find out how difficult this challenge would be.

I was handed this phrase: “you are a Community and Business Development volunteer as an NGO Development Specialist,” and sent to Southern Armenia; which is actually closer to Karabakh and Iran than Armenia’s capital, Yerevan. I landed in a Women’s Resource Centre with a short term goal of empowering local business women and a long term strategic goal of getting women involved in local politics. Some days I feel I have been asked to recreate women’s liberation in the scope of two years! In order for my NGOs goals to be met it often feels the society spinning outside our doors, and in our member’s minds, needs to magically transform some beliefs very basic to its nature before we can make any headway. But project by project, meeting by meeting, we make progress. Progress in Peace Corps is slow, but meaningful for the communities we serve.

Peace Corps work has been the strongest test of patience I have ever known. This lesson, patience, has been a profound one. I am coming to understand it as a deeper layer of culture shock than I am used to. Living in a new culture there are certain details of reality given up easily and there are others I cling to. Letting go of these more stubborn comfort zones from home culture provides a new opportunity for evolution as a human. There is something cellular that fights for the structures my mind has created the world with. What is inherently me, tries to find the familiar when surrounded by the unfamiliar. Ironically, and thankfully, each day the unfamiliar is becoming more and more normal. This personal process is what has allowed me to be an effective communicator within the large staff of progressive Armenian women I work with. I have learned to let go, listen very carefully, and relearn the world through Armenian eyes. Such a transformation in even a small percentage of American citizens is a necessary humbling for our society.

The Peace Corps creates seeds of diplomacy; it creates networks of people who are able to sleuth out non-military structures for dealing with community problems and disputes. It creates people who can quiet their mind and relentless attachments and observe objectively. Peace Corps volunteers quickly come to understand the flow of power and influence in a community and over time they discover what it will take to keep these structures from falling prey to corrupt influence or forces with malicious intent. Even if we cannot prevent corrupt or abusive actions we still gain the skill of this insight that we will carry with us and can be applied to future diplomatic work.

Peace Corps work tends to focus on local talent, skill, and resources thus supporting self-sustaining communities in the long term. Many communities are made of people who already, out of necessity, have learned to be self-sustaining on some level. When a community has endured downed distribution systems for a prolonged period they instinctively identify local resources and learn to rely on them. In Armenia, after the fall of the Soviet Union, families had to learn to be self-sufficient in order to survive. Peace Corps utilizes that ingenuity and attempts to shine a light on other areas of society that benefit from a commitment to cultivating local involvement. Peace Corps volunteers are advocates and mentors. In our day to day work our sphere of influence can feel very small and our successes can seem minor until we realize how many volunteers world wide, or current host-country wide; are witnessing progress in their communities, organizations, schools, and municipalities. When you deeply influence the pathway of a human life those efforts must be valued. They have long term effects and tend to radiate to other community members.

As far as the US political sphere is concerned the Peace Corps is undervalued and under funded. Due to the fact that Peace Corps work is technically volunteer work its merits are often ignored. Having successful Peace Corps service in one’s personal background, and on one’s resume, is a powerful thing. There is strength of character and sophisticated understanding of international relations that emerges in volunteers. I imagine we return more responsible US citizens, more effective in our home communities, and more focused professionals.

Year by year the US educational system, economic sector, media, and political sphere erode. It is logical that creating a higher percentage of empathetic and compassionate citizens who have an enduring and charitable inquisitiveness about the world is in our nation’s best interest. A resilient vision for America must value diplomatic discourse and cross-cultural tolerance. This vision requires an increase in citizenry with diplomatic sensibilities.

Looking back over our long collective histories, the human race is tiring of war. The mechanisms of war and money made from it will not soon disappear. However, there are citizens in every nation who can see passed its temporal merits. Citizens in their day to day lives, and increasingly in their careers, are prepared to work tackling the most difficult challenges of our time through non-military tactics. Such tactics do not hold universal relevance but it must be said that they have been undervalued the last decade.

The A16 class of PCVs in Armenia departed a very different America than the A17 class, at least considering the collective psychological and political atmosphere. The A16s left silent in the night unrecognized and unheard, they were leaving in the shadow of an illegal war that they were statistically probably against. The A17s left newly valued and recognized; we left with a sense of hope and the possibility that our nation’s reputation may begin a long healing process. Both classes seem generally proud to be serving here in Armenia. Even at the bottom of the totem pole of diplomatic work there is still a sense that we carry America inside us. We may not feel such clear identity walking the sidewalks of an American town or city, but here we represent something that we have to get to know in a profoundly new way.

This portable America is what spreads seeds of diplomacy. We are not democracy agents spreading capitalism; we are American citizens participating, laughing, sharing stories and histories, and working sympathetically with our myriad counterparts. The spirit with which we work each day is observed by our counterparts and globally this feeds America’s reputation. Peace Corps unfortunately cannot single handedly create America’s reputation; but at least collectively Peace Corps volunteers can bring a positive voice reflecting America’s more diplomatic inclinations.

This is why it is so important that Peace Corps volunteers consider their commitment sincerely. Each day working and living from a responsible and uplifting strategy. The individual choices we make leave a lasting impression in ways we will never fully understand. Representing the United States from a stance of Peace is not an insignificant choice to make. It is the foundation of our future.

Zoë H. Armstrong, PCV

A17 Goris, Armenia

January 2010

The dedicated women of Armenia, in honor of International Women's Day, demand rights- not flowers. There is a sense that these holidays in honor of women only continue to belittle and placate women's power. This slogan "We want Rights NOT Flowers" was created by the Yerevan Women's Center to publicly demonstrate that they are not sweetly smiling quiet at home with a bouquet but rather are working hard everyday to try and create a movement for women in Armenia.

"Es galis em pshrelu hayrishkhanutyuny" - Original work by: Tsomak Oga, Yerevan, Armenia

I think cracked wheat, or gereshka as we say here, is currently my favorite meal. My host sister cooked up a big pot of it today. I am moving into my own apartment in about 2 weeks. I will miss her cooking definitely! Realizing that I am moving into my own space, soon to live alone away from a family, has given me pause. I am reflecting on my time in this house- my portal to the community here. It has not been an easy 6+ months in this house, many of those details are best left for that novel I'll write someday. This young family has been my intimate introduction to Armenia's way of life. My small room has lavendar walls, lace curtains, a beautiful rug, and simple furniture. Within its embrace I have gone through such an intensive process. I remember the first day I came here and started unpacking my 2 suitcases with my entire life in them. I feel like that woman who walked in here that day was a different human than me sitting here now. First of all she had nice shoes, clean business looking clothes, and discovery in her eyes. Now as I sit typing in comfortable- very worn- clothes and slippers with oil from chicken meat on my lips, I know the look in my eyes is more of "cement and vodka." I have not had a drop to drink, it is just my metaphor for Armenia: the land of cement and vodka. My gaze is more grounded harboring a deeper understanding of where I am. This home has been the cocoon from which my Peace Corps service emerged. By understanding the challenges this family faces I have been privy to the microcosm making up the nation's deepest concerns. Armenia is, basically, economically stuck. It is a vyed for land, criss-crossed by more international interests than seems necessary for the land of mountains, switchbacks, cement, and vodka. It is a connecting point, the eye in multiple storms. It is a place that has often been taken from, moved on from, and forgotten. These days alot of people have involved themselves in the work of giving something, staying, and remembering Armenia. Peace Corps obviusly offers itself in that second category. Our job description here often seems to be: break the hex of inertia. Yerevan is a dynamic capital city with some level of self-motivation in governing bodies; and certainly Yerevan has an engaged citizenry. However in the rest of this small contoured land it ain't Yerevan. The rest of the country is usually called "the regions" and refers to all the other Marzes (basically states/counties) besides the area around Yerevan. This is where Soviet area everything continues to crumble, where infrastructures tend to be corrupt or inept, where citizens stroll at a slow pace and hold a detached gaze. This is where Peace Corps volunteers work. We are often of help to international development organizations that work from Yerevan; we have access to the "real" world for them. And in trade sometimes they treat us to lunch, a nice shower, or a place to stay when we are in the capital. Peace Corps volunteers live as the locals live, as far as our capacity to do so. This vantage point gives us the ability to better understand the population around us and to see opprtunities for service projects that may actually be sustainable.

Communicating from truth, in truth, as truth; it seems simple enough of a concept and yet I have twisted rabid in the winds of my own delusions – for years. Waking up to one’s personal truth is a tremendous journey in itself, then comes the step of learning to live from that space. Now that I’ve managed the task of redefining the universe as I experience it and now that the false saviors that have held up the façade have dissolved away, now I can channel strength and action from a more intimate source: my core, my womb of spirit. When I meet the gaze of others living from this profoundly sober vantage point we seem to see our unity in fighting the odds. Worlds collide from the shedding of unnecessary skins. I was warned long ago that most humans are crushed by their own power, unused it consumes us. Focusing my gaze on the future I do not see killing myself to live. I do see the task I have been gently handed of holding this truth, moving with this truth. “Speak the truth until it moves through you.” It is a profound uncanny sense and seemingly there is no way to describe it that doesn’t make me sound like a nut case. So I’ll just go with that. My activities are being monitored by the US government so I can candidly say that certain details have been omitted, ironically, from all this truth talk. I can say that coming into this space has been Armenia’s gift to me. The alchemy came together in a perfect storm and it seems my inner work is busy spinning gold. Time became critical long ago, and here we are chasing the money as a means to feed the spirits of a nation. Tra la la la.

We have had the most amazing winds in the evenings here. The days are calm and bright, then as night falls, the howling and creaking begin. I can hear debris tumbling in the streets and I can feel the house take the forceful blows of these tundric gusts. The dogs go crazy from the wind and the cargo trucks groan against the might of it. Amazing forces, the winds, from everywhere moving everything and everyone.

Thank you on behalf of Peace Corps Armenia. These books will benefit Goris Women's Resource Centre, Yerevan Women's Centre, Goris University, Armenian Young Women's Association, and PINK Armenia. **SPECIAL THANKS TO GARY LAWLESS AND FRIENDS AT GULF OF MAINE BOOKS IN BRUSWICK, MAINE and to DARIEN BOOK AID IN CONNECTICUT** My love to you, Zoe

The following line of thought has been inspired by my constant attempts at real connection with people I cannot TALK with. Dancing has always been my default communication mechanism. I have found in Armenia my needs surpass dancing. And so my mind continues to reach. I continue to witness the limits of language, even when translated. I am seeing the limits of lingual translation to really translate worlds. Every nuance is multi-dimensional, multi-textural, and individually influenced. We cannot exist through an other's perception, only our own, and we cannot- no matter how hard we try- completely perceive another as they perceive themselves- no matter the myriad boundaries and languages and redefinings within a mind. Perhaps, then, unity is found only in the breath- the before and after of expression- the in between spaces where we all exist candidly, for a moment. Breathe with me and truth can surface- add these brief moments together and collective realities emerge. I guess it ultimately gets down to the conundrum of being unable to prove the feeling of love. The same goes with culture, it is not tangible, but it is undeniably there.

Apparently it is the season for Peace Corps Volunteers serving in Armenia to reassess. For some this has meant leaving. Last week we lost our sixth volunteer in my A17 service class. I believe in the beginning we had 46 or so. Those who stay are always saddened to see a comrade go, but 2 in two weeks is a bit intense!

The A17s have been here 8.5 months now, we have gotten over the initial shock of being ripped away from home, and the initial seeming drudgery of facing life in a post-Soviet nation. It is also winter, which can be intense for people, with the bear bones living most volunteers enjoy, especially in the villages. Those of us who have stayed have found meaningful work and a daily life we can be comfortable enough in to keep trying.

In the month of January I had my "I'm definitely staying" epiphany. Many events happened with locals I work with and with new Armenian friends that helped me to reconfirm my commitment, inside of myself. I feel at home here, I feel a sense of community, I feel Armenia becoming part of who I am.

Peace Corps service changes everything. I faced my own life with new clarity and accept Armenia as home. A place I have hardly ever thought about over the years is becoming part of my core identity. I have been pushed and challenged in ways I never knew existed.

My eyes have been opened to opportunities in international development work, diplomacy, human rights, and community service. Working long-term in a cross-cultural environment is not the same as travel; it is a completely different kind of commitment. I no longer under-estimate the value of kindness and I am learning to be gentle with myself.

My site mates are staying for a third year and I used to think they were crazy for making that choice- but now I understand. There is real need here, many opportunities for fulfilling work, and, well...these people are family. If I can get my Armenian language skills above Novice-High I may consider applying for an extension myself!

When I have heard Returned PCVs say that nothing compares to their service years, now I am beginning to understand what they mean. I am going through this intense personal journey and no one from "home" is here. Most likely none of my friends will visit here and for sure my family will not. So I get to go through all of this tremendous growth with my new communities here: My Peace Corps community, my Armenian communities, and my international development worker communities...(obviously some overlap exists here). It is just intense, on any level you can conjure, and I love it. And, as is always the case with love, it hurts- excruciatingly, but not as much as leaving will.

So those are my deep thoughts for this evening. My posts will vary greatly in their focus, as you can tell from the previous poems. Right now much of it is personal, as your ear is part of my salvation. My next report will be about the work I am doing with the amazing women at the Women's Resource Centre here. Thank you infinitely for reading this and being part of my journey.

The bark of a solitary dogreminds me tonight is a full moonHis voice is steady, unfaltering,He speaks for all of us down hereOur hearts crooning at the distant, cold, hollow moonlightKnowing it will bring us no warmthIt is a mirror of the Sun,an illusion on glassBut our eyes, full of wonder,look to it,The only sign in our baron winter universe that spring may come againI was called out of my bedto find candle light and poetryThe rhythm of his barkingtold me that through hungerwe know life.

Written by: Zoe H. Armstrong January 29, 2010 Goris, Armenia

It was a moonless night

Dogs barking in distant mist

The ice crackling under my feet

The steam of my cold staccato breath

made me ache for spring

I've never felt so far away and

so close to nothingness

The cargo trucks groaning by

seemed a violation of this still frozen silence

I wanted a hand to hold

Eyes to smile with

But all I had was me

and this eerie hill to climb

Suffocating in the embrace of mountains

Longing for the sea

~Zoe H. Armstrong Dec 2009 Goris, Armenia

Greetings from Armenia Earthlings, I just wanted to give a head's up that I will be starting my blog posts, finally, as promised and as requested of me. They will be a reflection on my work here in Armenia. I plan to post once each month. If you are interested in the seeds of diplomacy, women's empowerment , the Caucasus region, post-Soviet realities, or Armenia in general...please stay tuned! I promise interesting photos, poetry, and hopefully illuminating jaunts through cross-cultural experience. My love, Wandering Gypsy

Yesterday I attended the inauguration of the 44th US President. It was an impressive and memorable day. The crowds were converging rivers, flowing through the city- small tributaries from all over the country-and in our country that means from all over the world. There was a consistent and awe inspiring energy in the eyes of every gaze I met. Hugged by strangers and friends alike – we all felt an uncanny unity. During the intense time of work that was the campaign season, I knew we were fighting for democracy to breathe again. But I have to admit, I did not really feel the HOPE that has been given so much airplay, until yesterday. Where George W. Bush urges us to keep our heads down and try not to create a stir – Obama urges us to hold our heads high with our own strength and pride in a nation that we keep alive together – not to bow to an authority who knows best but rather to inform that authority of our vision for the future and hopes for the present. This call to participation rather than cooperation is inspiring the very soul of our nation to come alive. Individually, Obama reflects back to us our own potential for greatness, for fulfillment. He reminds us to take personal responsibility for the world we constantly critique around us. Our expectations of his administration are very high; as his expectations of us are equally high. We are being held to a higher standard. The bar, nationally, has been raised. Many of us cringe at the idea of our governmental power structures seeming "parental" but at least our "parents" are no longer abusive and inept. Any good parenting coach or teacher will tell you – if you believe in people and highlight their strengths they will excel. On specific issues – that never seem to die – we may always be a partisan nation. But thinking holistically about the legacy and direction of the United States of America I feel there truly is an ultimate coming together. We have been pushed to the brink and have had our constitution mutilated. This state of emergency has cast such a shadow over us that we collectively were forced to seek warmth in each other. Being stripped of many of our most precious gifts we managed to discover our common ground. Now, moving forward, working from that foundation is where I see the HOPE. I have a sense that reparations can be made and congressional gridlock overcome. Of course I sound naive – that is a luxury hope can allow. But the fact remains we have to focus we have to do better we have to build a sustainable future; or quite simply; as many lay resting beneath our feet already know; we will not have a future. The sun is shining in DC today. The power of its light to help us transcend the bone chilling winter is undeniable. ~ Zoë H. Armstrong 21 January 2009