For this week’s fun Monday, Robinella decided to give us all a break. She asked us to repost one of our favorites over the last year. Um…hello? I can barely remember last week! As I was scrolling through my past posts, I stopped on this one. I just posted it on the 15th, but I just flew by in the chaos of NaBloPoMo. So, for it’s first encore, may I present the repost of “Where I am from”
I’ve been trying to get around to my favorite blogs a little more often. Today, at Hilary’s I found an amazing poem. I had seen this before, it was originally done by George Ella Lyons. (You can read about it and find a template if you go here.) but just hadn’t settled down to create my poem. Today..I did. I highly encourage all of you to take a trip down memory lane and create your own. Where I Am From
I am from sewing machines, Crayola Crayons, and the vast blue sea. I am from the yellow house on the hill. The second from the corner with the huge mountain of happy pink geraniums and the back yard with honeysuckle and a badminton net.I am from the never-ending summers of oleander, ice plant, beautiful red hibiscus, palm trees and prickly pear cactus. I am from our neighbor’s shrub that grew luscious red berries with rainbow colored pits.
I am from coffee drinkers and readers and I Can Do It attitudes. From Lillian and Lavant, Helen and Otto, as well as John and Patsy.
I am from strong, determined people that fight for what they believe in. We believe in love and staying married through thick and thin.
I am from clean your room, do I have to get my belt, and I love you.
I am from the Joy Bus with “Rock of Ages” “How Great Thou Art” and “If You Are Happy and You Know It”. From potlucks on Sundays and Youth Group on Wednesdays.
I am from the Golden State with summers spent in Michigan and in Texas. And always knowing that we first came here on boats. First to Plymouth Rock and then later from Germany.
I am from my dad picking up a hitchhiker that became his brother-in-law, the long yearning letters sent to and from various ports of call when he was At Sea, the long road trips across our great country when we were all together.
I am from bulky photo albums with tissue carefully placed between the pages that were kept in my mother’s closet. They contained the treasured faces of family and friends, both known and unknown. From the thick notebooks penned in my grandmother’s spidery writing in felt tip pen containing the stories and poems that she poured out from her heart. From the caring letters sent by my far off grandmother, sending her love and newspaper clipping she thought I would enjoy.
I am from humble beginnings. I am from great people with tremendous courage and love in their hearts.
I am me.