A newly met blogging acquaintance of mine had a poignant post that I stumbled across the other day. It was called Where I’m From and was a soul-stirring snippet of her person, like peeking into the windows together of a house she used to live in and seeing her past through the dusty glass. I soon found out that it is a writing exercise that many have done and the ladies over at Bigger Picture Blogs gave a challenge as part of their community writing project called Writing Me to use Where I’m From as a creative writing tool. So, in the spirit of self discovery and expression I want to tell you Where I’m From and invite you to do the same!
Where I’m From
I am from the woods with the Great Owl; from ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas, Kraft mac-n-cheese, Robin Hood, and plastic charm necklaces.
I am from the white house on Wium with leaf tag paths, a hammock, and a three-story-tree-house sailing ship. I am from rooms filled with light and the scalding radiator seat by the picture window on a snowy day.
I am from the tall pines, the silence of snowfall, the cool dry crunch of autumn afternoons. I am from the senseless elation at the arrival of spring.
I am from canoe trips and giving the benefit of the doubt, from Vicki and Tom, from cousins and holidays.
I am from the artistic yearning to create something beautiful and the absent-minded forgetfulness of logistical details.
From the disappearing street and gooney birds between the beds.
I am from the Covenant. Jesus, redemption, and unconditional Love. I am from Hope and the rending of myself for a dream of a kingdom greater than my tiny world yet having everything to do with it.
I’m from Minnesota and the wild north of tall trees, lakes, and loons; from spaghetti carbonara and steak and eggs on the campfire.
From sooty boot marks tracked across the carpet to feed imagination on christmas morning. From divorce, only child, and a woman who has taught me about duty and grace.
I am from the loving arms of southern and midwestern food, pointe shoes, and ballet studio bedroom. I am from Shakespeare and Tchaikovsky, from the stage. I am from the smell of books, paper and pen, and the desire to feel something down to my core… and I wonder what will find it’s “from” in me.