I am from...

I am from glass thermoses that shatter if dropped, from lurid green dippity doo in my mother's medicine cabinet and wax lips filled with artificial liquid.

I am from the red brick house on the hill where dad worked and mom stayed home and the sound of locusts lulled me to sleep on hot summer nights.

I am from the willow tree I loved to climb, the honeysuckle flowers; delicate thread glistening with honey just waiting to be licked and jewel weed crushed in our sweaty hands that we rubbed on our legs to avoid posion ivy.

I am from tuna melts with homemade potato soup every Christmas Eve; and quick tempers and quick hugs ; from Mary Lee and Allan and the Bests and the Bucks.

I am from the over-analytical and the over-emotional.

From "eating your bread crusts will make your hair curly" and "Santa won't come until you are asleep!".

I am from the Methodist Church, my mother's belief in love and family and a firm belief I can worship my Goddess in anytime and anyplace.

I'm from Marietta, OH, Germany and Scotland; from snickerdoodle cookies and homemade cherry pie.

From the Great Great Great Grandfather who was a baker and stowed away to America on a boat and married my Great Great Great Grandmother when she was only 14.

I am from my mother's bottom dresser drawer and jewelry box, both filled with treasures that would delight us for hours on rainy afternoons. Photos of my mom as a little girl with her parents whom I would never meet, photos of my dad as a little boy with a big smile hiding the sadness in his eyes, jewelry that had been passed down from the women in my family; patina warm with countless hands that have held and loved it.
0 little birdies chirped