Writing Me: Where I’m From {Sarah}

I am from a powder-blue bicycle with pink streamers, from Barbie and hand-cranked ice-cream. I am from the concrete house on the corner that was once a mid-century, valley-hidden gas station. I am from autumn-pink azaleas, and broad-leafed redbuds.

I am from tracking Santa’s flight on the 10 o’clock weather forecast; I am from rosy cheeks and blue eyes, from Grandma Nina’s hands. I’m from made-up recipes and splattered cookbooks; I am from Betty Crocker.

I am from having too much food at the Thanksgiving table, and sneaking siestas behind the recliner. From stomping on puff mushrooms on the way to the creek. From dam-building and mud-pie-making. I am from ‘when your mother was a child’ and ‘Mabel, Mabel, sweet and able,..’ I am from cousin-filled pews and beaming, hand-holding grandparents. I am From the grace of Christ our Savior.

I’m from low-west Missouri surrounded by oaks and acorns; from blustering winter and blistering summer; from pineapple bars and chiles rellenos. I’m from the time Aunt Sherry was lured into a rug-covered pit in California, the poor dear. From the fishing-hook stuck in one Grandpa’s ear and the color ‘purkle’ from another Grandpa’s imagination.

I am from sleepy, early morning school bus rides and sleepy, late orchestra concerts. I am from ‘Nigh-night — love you — see you in the morning.’ From sneaking past mom and dad’s bedroom door. From careening over back roads with the windows rolled down.

I’m from field-parties and trying to be wild. I’m from failing, miserably, at being wild.
I am from the hope chest and the cedar closet; from the wrapped remnants of a wedding quilt and the boxed remains of a seaside vacation; from the yellowing photo albums and the long-saved TV-guide. I am from nostalgia — but reality. From a black puppy sleeping at the foot of my bed. From an angry cat rescued from a walnut tree.

I am from hearts looking backwards into hearts, further than memory can imagine or recall. I am from a hall of mirrors: constantly reflected in the generations of me.

Sarah writes nearly daily at This Heavenly Life. You can visit here there, if you’d like. 

Writing Me is a community writing project. We’d love to have you join us. 

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7 responses to “Writing Me: Where I’m From {Sarah}

  1. This is really very lovely. Even though I’m not from there at all — I feel it, where you’re from.

  2. I love it Sarah! Great job!

  3. Oh, I so love this today. It is beautiful, and you brought back to me pictures of where I am from.

  4. We have a lot in common Sarah. I love where you are from.

  5. I just love your images from “blustering winter and blistering summer” to “reflected in the generations”. Wonderful!

  6. Very colorful and vivid writing. When IS your first novel coming out?

  7. This is just wonderful. I got all kinds of happy chills reading it. Sigh. Makes me wonder what I’ll come up with when I ask myself where I’m from.

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