I stumbled upon a post by a fellow blogger, On the Rocks and Straight Up. Her prelude was: This was written for this week's writing meme at the Red Dress club. The prompt was kind of a Mad-Libs fill in the blank poem called "Where I'm from." Where I'm From template.
Following the e-trails, I discovered the original post (or at least, what I think is the original post.... but who knows these days!) providing the
This is my take on it. Enjoy.
I am from Sunday school and hand-picked cherries, from Betty Crocker and Sunset Magazine.
I am from the house on top of the hill overlooking the valley where I would later play, from those who drive cars pulling a boat with windows rolled down and cigarette smoke billowing from the driver’s side window, from the warm kitchen humming with activity while ensuring home-made goodness for all who gather at its table.
I am from the purple Agapantha, the Dutch Iris and the Alstroemeria, and from the patchy grass covering the rest of the yard untouched by abundant fruit trees or lush rose bushes.
I am from desert lake vacations and Yosemite mountain retreats, and forever sitting on the side of blazing freeways in lawn chairs waiting for the Auto Club. I am from the lanky, lean Imus's and the obstinate Seitz's, and from the long line of Adams which produced many judges and lawyers and two of our country’s ruling fathers.
I am from non-dysfunction and ordinary, from common sense and passivity.
From “if you get yourself pregnant, you will be kicked out of the house before you can blink” and “if she goes, I’ll go with her”.
I am from a God who loves us as a father loves his child, from a passed plate of tiny saltines and grape juice. From a large village who takes care of their families, and sacrificing in order to do so. From a brick sanctuary with memories of childhood musicals.
I'm from a sunny southern metropolis, land of the foothills and waves, from oranges and casseroles.
From the great-grandmother who had the bravery to divorce her spouse back when divorce just didn’t happen, from the grandmother who was so sick while carrying her third child that but for God’s grace my mother may never have been born, and from the woman who successfully fought the cancer that stole my cousin away at too early an age.
I am from dust bunnies and antique violin cases, photo albums of fleeting stardom and long lasting memories, from tennis and baseball trophies won by family heroes and an Oscar earned by a man who ultimately gave his life for it. I am from quick kisses, warm hugs and blazing love.