Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Where I'm From

I am from turntables, from Sylvania and white record sleeves. From album art covered in dust that when blown about glistened and danced in sunlight streaming through dining room windows.

I am from the pale yellow house on Second Avenue, from the porch piled high with stacks of old newspapers. From the big concrete steps with their pits and pockmarks and cracks that filled with water when the rains came.

I am from the Gravel Pit with its green trees, grey rocks and brown water. From hidden trails and secret coves and the sweet smell of honeysuckle in the breeze. From fishing with Daddy and bluegill and bait and tackle and bobbers and bamboo poles and pet worms and crawdads.

I am from road trips and Blevins hips, from Henry Edsel and Dawn Elaine. From a telephone technician and a seamstress. From tinkerers and talkers, mail clerks and military men, secretaries and songbirds.

I am from the keeping of secrets and the struggle to survive. From walls that couldn't talk but could tell you stories most people wouldn't want to hear.

From "but you have such a pretty face" and "hold your horses" and "get home when the street lights come on".

I am from the school of John 3:16. From prayer and thanksgiving and parables, and grace and mercy... and masks I am still learning how to remove.

I'm from Appalachia and Wales, from hills and hollers and preachers and poets. I am from bourbon balls in Aunt Bonnie's refrigerator and pot roast from Mom's old clickety-clackety pressure cooker, from wedding cakes and Nilla Wafers and saltines and 7-Up.

From the grandmother who made perfect potato candy and baked the softest peanut butter cookies, the paper beads and the button box she always always kept at the ready, and the grandfather in the big brown chair, silent and stoic and loved and adored more than he could ever imagine.

I am from the ashes of the pictures and the journals and the bridges I have burned, from the passionate soul songs no one will ever hear. I am from the snapshots saved and the inked up pages of ratty old notebooks, from the special sounds of the music I share with the world.


If you decide to try this and share it, you can link it up here: Schmutzie

Until next time, may you be blessed - and inspired to pass it on!


From Tracie said...

I totally cried reading yours too! I'm so glad that you did one.

(You lived in a pale yellow house! How fantastic is that!?!)

Anonymous said...

So Great I am going to do this and the have the girls do it too. Thanks for sharing.

Debbie said...

I love the paragraph about your grandparents. Lovely writing.

Chibi said...

LOVE this! So glad I got to read it. :)

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