Where I'm From

It's probably been a year or so ago that I read a post from Gina's blog where she talked about the Where I'm From writing assignment. I was instantly smitten with the idea and couldn't wait to write my own Where I'm From piece. I started it, but never could finish it until today. For whatever reason, today the ideas, memories and words just flowed. I think this is a great exercise that allows you to reminisce about your roots. There are many sites out on the web to get you started. I deviated from the plan, but that's the idea. If you're interested you can go here for a beginning template.
I hope someday when Jacinda is older she will want to write her own Where I'm From piece and I also hope that when she reads mine, she will have a real sense of who her mother really is and where I am from.

Where I'm From
I am from silver screaming pressure cookers and gleaming glass canning jars, from Heinz ketchup and tiger-striped farm cats.
I am from an ordinary home perched on family land that has been passed down from generations, from goodnights hollered down the hall before bedtime, black Carbon tape, kitchens boiling over with summer heat and barefoot mornings walking in fresh cut green grass still wet with dew.
I am from the blushing pink rose bushes that you could never pick, a rock big enough to sit on with your cousins surrounded by Grandma’s Irises, luscious smelling lilacs whose fragrance I would inhale, a garden full of brightly colored vegetables and a hilltop lined with happy yellow daffodils.
I am from cousins saying grace before family Sunday dinners and strong-willed, good cooks who took turns washing dishes and red plastic Solo cups that Papa insisted we reuse. I am from Beulah Bernice and Billy Frank and Aunt Louise who always had the most interesting things growing in her greenhouse. I am from Aunt Elaine who served chocolate pudding for breakfast and from Easter Egg hunts where the recycled pantyhose eggs always held candy and coins. I am from Clark Bars on Halloween, Saturday night pizzas eaten while watching Hee Haw, opening Stockings first on Christmas Day and summer Saturday nights at the Drive-In.
I am from uncles who played basketball for hours with an old ball and a rusty rim without a net. The same ones who would steal my nose, tug at my pony tails, lovingly call me McGillicutty and asked me if I could hear the Whippoorwill. I am from church-going, community minded, self-giving aunts who wore their hard headedness like proudly earned medals.
I am from “You kids stay out of the Red and Blue rooms,” “you’re old enough that your wants won’t hurt you,” “You don’t sit down, you fall down” and “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”
I am from the little white church full of spirit-filled, God-fearing people who didn’t mind hard pews and lengthy church services. I am from the The Old Rugged Cross, Let’s Just Praise the Lord and Jesus Loves me. I am from Rex Humbard, Billy Graham and Jimmy Swaggart. I am from Vacation Bible School with sandwich cookies and red Koolaid, from Sunday School rooms separated by a curtains and Baptisms in the river on warm summer Sunday afternoons. I am from altar calls, Thompson Chain Reference Bibles, Friday night youth crusades, weekend retreats at Mission Farms and revivals that would last for weeks on end.
I'm from eating at the kids table, playing 8-ball with my hands because we weren’t allowed to use poolsticks, being giddy with excitement when the Indianapolis bunch would come in only to find they would tickle me until I almost wet my pants. I am from playing Batman and Robin with my cousins and getting in trouble playing a made-up game called Sticky Glue Part Two. I am from Grandma’s golden Macaroni and Cheese, Anne’s Sweet Peppers simmering on the stove and Aunt Lynne’s Seven Layer Salad masterpiece. I’m from Mom’s Potato Salad and Broccoli Casserole and from the best sweet tea ever made.
From a red-as-a-beet summer face that had to be cooled with a damp washcloth before dining on chicken pate and cocktails which turned out to be a tube of sandwich meat spread on a cracker and an ice cold Coke served in a plastic champagne glass that would come apart if you held it the wrong way. From playing dress up with all of Anne’s jewelry and teetering around in her multicolored heels making clomping sounds on the old wood floor. From being hovered over a silver sink as the stench of the perm solution invaded my button nose and being told it was the price we women pay for beauty. I am from manning the guest book for practically all of my older cousin’s weddings and never being chosen as the flower girl I longed to be.
I am from my daddy’s black plastic lunch box with a green metal thermos covered in black dust. I am from Zest soap, pet bunnies and dogs that never had to be walked. I am from Big Wheels, baby carriages and books read under the covers with a flashlight.
I am from the beloved orange album, handmade Barbie clothes, painted wooden donkeys and milk cans. I am from cloud watching, star gazing and getting my first kiss between the two pine trees at the top of the hill. I am from summers at the Little League field learning first-hand what hard work is all about. I am from placing flowers on a tombstone and still talking to the woman I lost so long ago as tears well up in my eyes. I am from loyalty. I am from loss. I am from love.