I am from...

I've been falling in love with these on everyone's blog, and finally had to write my own. Should you like to follow (and I hope you will), the template is here: I Am From


I am from neighborhood rides in the red wagon, from My Little Pony and donuts hung from trees.

I am from the house just after the "Stop Ahead" sign, the screened porch and the squeaky swing in the yard on lazy summer days.

I am from transplanted palm trees and the holes they leave behind, the raw and urgent smell of ginko and the peach tree that only sometimes was.

I am from Pooh Sticks under bridges, from yell-to-be-heard family dinners, from Peters and Serfaces and Isabella Glockenspiel, from Verle and Lorraine.

I am from exploring the possibilities of the imagination, from a world where love accomplished and allowed belief time and time again. I am from the callouses on my father's left fingers, from Nipper and Napper and my mother's sewing machine.

I am from seagulls who know my name, from static electricity, and from The Collected Works of William Shakespeare.

I am from the church that raised me, from Sunday night potlucks and retreats in October. I'm from the pews I crawled under, the terrifying height of the baptistery, the choir room. I am from my Precious Moments Bible with my name in gold letters, the cross my father bought me and the one he made me keep, from Christmas Eve candlelight services and footy pajamas.

I am from Grandma's Spaghetti and the defense of Slop, from the bullet holes in the walls of Chicago and the beaches of Morro Bay. I am from a newlywed's hideaway in Seattle and from the house my mother grew up in.

I am from the boy and girl who met in the marching band, from a poorly-planned teenage spying episode, a parking lot engagement, and a blue tuxedo shirt. I am from Sabrina and Bear.

I am from walks with my grandfather. I am from the two who read each other to sleep every night.

I am from the hill with the tire swing, from wide open spaces, the Angel Garden, and my parents attic. I am from the faintest whiff of eucalyptus, from suspended moments of beauty, from a hint of chlorine.

I am grateful always.