I'm from

There is a contest at Chrysalis blog for this poem and it ends tonight. She has the template and all you do is fill in your own memories. I actually wrote this a year or so ago but I want to take part in the contest, so I'm posting it again.

(By the way, this is my second post for today. Two in one day! So don't miss the other one.)

Where I'm From

I am from cigarette scented pickups. From black and white TV and

Pyrex bowls – yellow for the popcorn and red for the Jell-o.

I am from the squeaky, the dusty, and paneled.

From three bedrooms, green carpet, and doors that open

by themselves.

From room to roam and dirt and trees.

I am from swinging in a tire,

playing Wonder Woman

and Barbies.

Reading in the sun, drawing and

listening to John Denver.

Cowboys and Indians and

hide-and-seek in the dark.

From piano lessons,

libraries,

and Christian school.

I am from cherry trees, grapes vines and rhubarb.

From pony hair, cat hair and chicken feed.

Gardens and worms and wild asparagas.

I am from reunions, Rosehips, and

big feet.

From Vera and Leo, Delmas and Beryl. Two girls and four girls and one boy.

The end of the line.

I am from the teasing and the stoic. I am from praying and bickering

and loving.

From I’ll give you something to cry about and

if your friends wanted to jump off a cliff…

I am from Jesus saves and lots of rules.

From Sunday morning,

Sunday night,

Wednesday night.

From loving the least of these and everlasting life.

I’m from Pueblo and the Arkansas Valley,

from the dust bowl and a soddy.

From ranches, farms, and railroads.

From Macaroni and cheese and Chicken and dumplings,

bread without salt and canned apples.

Frozen Kool-aid, Banquet chicken and Cheerios.

From the illegitimate son of a sailor, The War of 1812,

and an orphan raised by natives.

A bronc - bustin', homesteading grandma.

A migrant worker grandpa. A WWI vet who just missed hitting the frontlines

and survived the epidemic.

I am from heart attacks, brain cancer, and aneurisms.

From strokes and ninety-five years.

I am from old scrapbooks, grandma’s stored-away boxes,

from funeral receipts, birth bills and marriage licenses stuffed

in a bag.

And

memories that need to be mined before it’s too late.

where i'm from

Lauri had this on her blog and I loved it.  You can look at her post to see where to get the form to do your own poem and read other poems by other people.  They are all cool.  I will probably work on mine some more, but this is what I have so far.

Where I'm From

I am from cigarette scented pickups.  From black and white TV and

Pyrex bowls – yellow for the popcorn and red for the Jell-o.

I am from the squeaky, the dusty, and paneled. 

From three bedrooms, green carpet, and doors that open

by themselves. 

From room to roam and dirt and trees. 

 

I am from swinging in a tire,

playing Wonder Woman

and Barbies.

Reading in the sun, drawing and

listening to John Denver.

Cowboys and Indians and

hide-and-seek in the dark.

From piano lessons,

libraries,

and Christian school.

 

I am from cherry trees, grapes vines and rhubarb. 

From pony hair, cat hair and chicken feed. 

Gardens and worms and wild asparagas.

I am from reunions, Rosehips, and

big feet. 

From Vera and Delmas and Beryl.  Two girls and four girls and one boy. 

The end of the line.

 

I am from the teasing and the stoic.  I am from praying and bickering

and loving. 

From I’ll give you something to cry about and

if your friends wanted to jump off a cliff… 

I am from Jesus saves and lots of rules. 

From Sunday morning,

 Sunday night,

Wednesday night. 

From loving the least of these and everlasting life.

 

I’m from Pueblo and the Arkansas Valley,

 from the dust bowl and a soddy. 

From ranches, farms, and railroads. 

From Macaroni and cheese and Chicken and dumplings,

bread without salt and canned apples.

Frozen Kool-aid, Banquet chicken and Cheerios.

From the illegitimate son of a sailor, The War of 1812,

and an orphan raised by natives. 

A bronc - bustin', homesteading grandma.  

A migrant worker grandpa.  A WWI vet who just missed hitting the frontlines

 and survived the epidemic.

 

I am from heart attacks, brain cancer, and aneurisms.

From strokes and ninety-five years.

I am from old scrapbooks, grandma’s stored-away boxes,

from funeral receipts, birth bills and marriage licenses stuffed

in a bag.  And

memories that need to be mined before it’s too late.

 

thursday thirteen

Thirteen of the best candies from my childhood.  Notice there is no chocolate.  Chocolate goes without saying and may have a TT of its own sometime.

Gobstoppers may have been my ultimate favorite.

I liked apple, watermelon and FireStix flavors the best!  And the stix were way better than the little chunky things.
Makes me pucker just to think of these.

I had a real love/hate relationship with these things.  The wax was so nasty and then the liquid was good and yet strong and I wasn't sure I really  liked it, but it WAS candy, after all.
Zotz were awesome.  They had something fizzy and sour in the middle.

Candy and Jewelry combined!  How could you go wrong?
My favorite was the root beer cap.
We could be so cool, at six.
I really only ate these when there wasn't any better choice.  I particularly associate them with garages.  We would take the car in for whatever, (how should I know) and they had those machines you could put a penny in and get a handful of candy.  Often, these were the only offering and so I would, of course, have some.  They are candy, after all.

What kid doesn't like Pixy Stix?

weird kids

Over at To Know Me is to Love Me, my cousin blogged about some odd things she did as a child.  I was already thinking about telling you all this, so I will go ahead and tell you now.

I used to eat dog food.  Not the canned kind - that's disgusting.  But I ate the dry kind and also cat food.  Cat food is a bit better than dog food.  

So, we had a neighbor boy and I decided I should marry him when we grew up.  I was probably about five or six at the time.  Anyway, he wasn't much interested in marrying me so I had to bribe him.  I told him if he would marry me, I would bring him some candy.  Well, we never had candy around that I can remember.  So I would come back out and tell him we were out of candy and give him a handful of dog food instead and we would sit there, each on our own side of the fence, crunching on dog food.  It seems that this same scenario played out more than once, so he must not have been real bright, but he was all I had.  And also, I used the same technique to get him to promise that we could live on a farm when we got married.  I was quite pleased with myself snagging a husband in the first grade.

I also used to lick our pony's salt block - yummm.  And I sampled the chicken food, and the pony's oats and her hay and probably the rabbit food, too, but I don't recall.  I just loved trips to the feed store!  LOL  And sadly, this was when I was a few years older.

I don't eat that stuff anymore, but every now and then, walking through the dog food section...