Art On A Limb

Sunday, February 27, 2005

Where I'm From...

I found this exercise at Kimberly's blog, Music and Cats who states it originally was found at Fragments From Floyd where he has the format posted to follow. You might enjoy this, too. Here is my first draft. I may change this:

I am from the backyard clothesline, from cans of Gulfspray and Coke bottles with sprinkler heads for ironing.

I am from the only two-story home on our suburban block where birds built nests over the garage and banana trees grew so quickly, their large leaves scraped across my bedroom window. At this window, I would hear the tap of pebbles thrown by neighborhood friends asking me to come outside rather than knock on the door.

I am from the fragrant (and tasty) honeysuckle, the spring azaleas found in all our front yards, deadly oleander, and sand dollars gathered every single summer on the shores of the Gulf.

I am from homemade chicken and noodles at Christmas and high foreheads, from Fannie, who always wished her name was Mary Rebekah, and Winnie who lived life joyfully and from the Ebanks who value family above all else.

I am from the sailors of the Caribbean Sea and pioneers of Texas.

From where dogs are boys and cats are girls and Santa knows everything about me.

I am from a long line of Presbyterians who founded churches and taught Sunday school. From grandparents and parents who taught that we don’t “hate” anyone for we are all God’s children and that church is not just a building, it’s a home.

I’m from the coastal plains of Texas and the land of chocolate, Belgium, from seafood gumbo and my mom's cornbread stuffing made with hot sausage and pecans.

From the woman who adopted her nephew when his parents were killed in a car accident, the man who won a Soldier’s Medal of Bravery during World War II, and a woman who made sea turtle soup and cassava cakes for her eleven children.

I am from bookshelves in my parents homes where my school years and friends photos now sit either displayed or placed in albums. From the bracelet my grandfather gave my grandmother when she was sixteen and I wore at my wedding, and from family stories carefully handwritten by my other grandmother. From the small treasures of glass and jewelry or love letters and wedding certificates comes an accumulation of worth which cannot be tallied.


lynda, age 4