I Am From...

While visiting my daughter2 a week or so ago she shared a poem she'd written with her fifth grade class. It was such a precious peek inside her head and heart and is something I wanted to try too.  I'd seen something similar a while back on Pam's blog, and there is a template you can follow on Mama Kat's blog here, but I believe the idea originated with the author George Ella Lyon. It has since morphed into a world wide writing prompt, a thoughtful one at that, so I'm giving it a try today. It was a lot harder than I thought it would be...so much life and memory to cram into so few sentences. I think y'all know that brevity is not my forte.

So where are you from?

I Am From...

I am from soft pink roses on the bedroom wall, Little Kiddles, and Dippity-Do. I am from the green house with white shutters, Barbie clothes under the tree, and paper dolls spread across the living room rug. I am from Crow Boy, Anne Shirley, and a mountain of books read aloud. I am from a twin bed and a baby sister across the dark space, House of the Rising Sun strummed one thousand times on a brother's guitar, and an older sister with mascara, and records, and a bed made for jumping.

I am from purple iris reaching up to my chin, and a real Christmas tree whose needles land in small piles on the sheet around it's base. I am from wisteria outside the kitchen window and pyracantha scaling the chimney brick by brick, year by year.

I am from chores on Saturday mornings and imaginary creatures named Naugahyde. I am from a box of dress ups in the basement, the black and white fuzz of a TV at midnight, and a phone cord stretching from kitchen to den. I am from new Easter clothes and Give Me That Old Time Religion, from farm stock and painters, The United States Marine Corps and the free public library. I am from  the hum of a sewing machine, the whirl of a mixer, and letters stamped Vietnam.

I am from grace before meals and holiday feasts served on good china. I am from sit up straight and elbows off the table. I am from a pew on the left, hymn sings, pot luck dinners, and bless be the tie that binds. I am from Sunday night youth group, The Cowtail Bar, and Jesus Never Fails.

I am from the great blue expanse of an Albuquerque sky and the crisp clean air of Rocky Mountain high. From Aloha and the loving arms of Ga-Ga, an island called Parris, and a base called Quantico.  From a used-to-be farm called Barclay and walking barefoot in the grass. I am from no hands on the bike, running as the can was kicked, and all-y all-y in come free.

I am from enchiladas and hot sauce. From buttercreams dipped one by one and Christmas cookies baked by the dozen.  From quiet strength and sure love. I am from hard workers and careful spenders, integrity, and faith put into action.

I am from a father unwrapping his gifts with a letter opener so as not to tear the paper and a mother,  who in her worst, worst-case scenario fit of worry late one night, convinced my father to remove the door from a bedroom because her perfectly fine son didn't answer her knock. She was sure a spot on the carpet was blood.

I am from racks of slides now in boxes, pictures taken on the steps, 70's clothes and awkward family photos. I am from moving away with home in my heart, and then moving some more, and again and again, and still more agains.  With every again I reach back for myself and the familiar taste and feel of home, certain in the knowledge that no matter where I lay my head,  my present will be stamped with the sweet gentle touch of where I am from.