Where I’m From

Kick-starting the mojo with a little help from my friends. Saw this one over at Waiting Amy’s and thought I’d try it here.

I am from Quaker Grits, from Bisquick pancakes and Lipton tea.

I am from the orange house in the middle of nowhere, from a light blue room with stars on the ceiling, from the green kitchen with the hand-carved “I love you” sign.

I am from the blue hydrangeas, the old dogwood, and the towering magnolia.

I am from gatherings in the old house on Summerhill Road and brown haired, blue eyed babies; from Erma and Leo, Corinne and Joe.

I am from separating-our-candies-by-rainbow-order and laughing-so-hard-we-cry.

From don’t hit your brother, feed your hamster, go outside and ride your bike, and home is where the Army sends you.

I am from church three times a week, pack-a-pew revivals, fear the Rapture days. From the “first, second, & last” of all the hymns. From children’s church and Big Church. From Impact and choir tour and GA’s and Acteens. 

From cracking the spoiled egg and scooping out the baking powder but eating that cornbread anyway, from building anything out of found objects and Batman’s belt, from setting the table and dropping a fork straight into your toe.

I am from the attic up the rickety stairs with a mural of lighthouses, from the thick family Bible in the room with red carpet, from the old dressing table with doors-falling-off, from the PowerSort box with chronological files.