I Am From

This seems to be the latest blog craze. And at first, I rebelled. I didn't want to do what everybody else was doing. But I read some that were so beautiful. I looked at the template and thought, "This should be easy. It's just filling in blanks." But it proved to be somewhat difficult for me.

Anyhow, here it is. Go here if you want to hop on the bandwagon, too.

I am from the powder blue bicycle, bought at a garage sale. From lemony fresh Joy soap suds and homemade ice cream. I am from the rental house...broken down, mouse-ridden, musty smelling.

I am from the mulberry tree that stained my feet, the velvety Princess Feather and the duck pond, the lilac bush, the roses on the trellis, Grandpa's "mountain". I am from fish frys and practical jokes, from Monroe and Valaria and Aud.

I am from drinking too much and forgiving too little. From "put on some socks" and "suck in that lip".

I am from holy rollers. From fire and brimstone and Holy Ghost revivals.

I am from St. John's and the back woods of the rolling Ozark hills, Wonder Bread and Orange Crush. From Uncle Henry's car careening through a fence, but no one asking why, the swollowed lollipop, and Daddy being stationed in Alaska.

I am from old, tattered steamer trunks and beautiful scrapbooks, from shoeboxes and footlockers filled with the happy and the heartbreak, directing me, grounding me and reminding me of where I am from.