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.


3 Responses to Where I’m From

  1. Waiting Amy says:

    Fizz, its beautiful! I can almost smell that spoiled egg and the attic too.

    Were you surprised the things that came to you? I know I was.

  2. crono says:

    That was awesome sis!

    Must you bring up the painful fork in the toe incident?!

  3. fizzledink says:

    Amy, you’re right. Actually what surprised me first was that it took me so long to come up with just the right phrase – I looked at some of those prompts and thought, “Ummmm…….” for a while. But once I started to let my mind wander, then yeah – this puts me right there in the middle of my memories.

    Crono, sorry, dude – but it’s one of my most succint memories of you from our childhood. Not many other stories about you can be told in just eleven words. You really ought to try this prompt at your blog, I’d love to read your version.

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