(Perhaps you can hear the GRRRRR! from where you are? Blogger has mysteriously decided that the 2 childhood photos I want to post with this are impossible to upload. Trust me, they are adorable. Grrrrrrr!)
On Marvy Mom Monday you may recall that I posted a piece written by my mom. It was inspired by a blog I follow, In the Trenches of Mommyhood, who was inspired by another writer who was inspired by.... Anyway, it all came from this template.
It's a great exercise for your memory and your soul so I highly recommend it. By the way, if you grew up with me (looking at you Heather & Heidi!) I would suggest NOT reading this and doing your own first. I think it would be a cool experiment to see what we have in common and also, I think it would be impossible to come up with my own after reading yours!
I am from the red felt wall paper, from Nestle's Quick and homemade bread.
I am from the top of Benton Road... haven, secluded, the view from heaven.
I am from the weeping willows, wild roses, rhubarb and impassible dirt roads; the apple trees, the lilacs and the allergies they induced.
I am from the dark Halloween walks to the cemetery and the snorting laughter and the weak bladders; from the Bardens and VanScoys and Robinsons and Hovers.
I am from the bold, funny, spotlight seekers who drink boxed wine; and the frugal, well-meaning do-rights who drink Utica Club beer.
From the “don't run the water!” and the lightning graces: “Godis goodGodisgreatandwethankHimforourfoodAmen.”
I am from the open-minded, hymn-loving, free-will-offering-at-spaghetti-suppers Episcopalians. From the rehearsal-free Christmas pageants, the matchbox cars on kneelers and the cheerios in plastic bags. From the universal stale smell of a church basements and the comfort that 'faith' does not mean 'lack of doubt'.
I'm from the hospital in Sayre, the farm in Tioga County, the Ward & VanScoy feed mills, the schools of Candor, 27 Spencer Avenue. From the Speedies on the grill and the soft serve ice cream and the July Fourth breakfasts for hundreds.
From Grandpa Barden losing his thumb after Pearl Harbor, from Dad skinny dipping in front of trespassers, from Grandpa VanScoy who died younger every time my father has a birthday.
I am from the trunk in the basement, the hard drives on computers, the VHS tapes. From the bad hair and the bad acne and the bad moods. From the victorious volleyball games and the frustrating gymnastics meets and the soaking wet track meets. From the concerts and the musicals. From the first days of school and the proms and the leaving home.
I am from gratitude and wisdom.
I am from Hope.
If you choose to do this and wish to share, I would love to post others' "I Am From" pieces on my blog. Think about it, you could be a STAR! (Okay, you could have upwards of 50 people read it... )
Phoebe - you'll laugh, but i had no idea who you were when you commented on my recent blog post about my son Sam, mentioning your son Tommy. "Who is this chick?" And now i'm here. And now i know. And now i am completely and utterly smitten with your blog, but particularly, your writing. I've often gotten compliments on my style of writing: "It's like I'm RIGHT THERE WITH YOU!" I write like i talk. It's not a gift, really. Just flows. Maybe you do the same, but i gotta tell you, this "I am From" post was AMAZING for me to read. Your succinct, spot-on descriptions of things, actions, memories... my mind was processing the words and then the image that appeared was like a little perfectly wrapped present JUST FOR ME! I loved this!!! I cannot wait to surf around the rest of your blog! Maybe we can meet some day. I've met your mom and she is wonderful (and VERY kind to our family!). Til next time..... :-)
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