Thursday, June 23, 2011

Where I am From

I am from dish pans, the (elbow) macaroni, hamburger and chopped tomato 
casserole and from 60's odd jello molds,
from German ingenuity and weekend trips up to the Wisconsin farm.
I am from the frozen Fox River and ice skating the long ice cracks to the edge of the marsh grass.
I am from large family gatherings at Grandpa’s house nearby where I lay on the floor day dreaming, invisible...and where I rushed in through the green kitchen screen door-slam, to pile high my Grandmother’s table full of sewing things…
I’m from the muskie out of Lake Winnebago that my Grandpa held and from ice fishing and the goose; from venison, from beer and from the brats. I think I’m from “My bologna has a first name, it's O-s-c-a-r. My bologna has a second name, it's M-a-y-e-r…”
I am from cloudy winter skies and from 'Wau-key-sha,' Fond-du-Lac, from Osh-kosh and Neenah-Men-ash-a…
I’m from the “Work hard and don’t complain,” “Before the snow flies…” and “Kill ‘em with kindness” bunch.
…From the land of “Now I lay me down to sleep” and the “Light of Light, very God of very God, begotten, not made…” vacation Bible school.
I’m from my Grandfather’s bumping knee and his big black sedan; “Round, round the corner,” he would sing. I’m from cornfields and cow pastures. I’m from cheese curds and lime green jello with white pear pieces. And I am from plastic cheese.
…From the glass eye my Grandfather Alvin had, the fingers my great Uncle lost on the farm somehow and from the move my father made from the deep freeze to the deep south.
I am from under my Mom’s 60’s something dark wood end table 
...from a brown wooden box with hinges filled with old photos, mostly black and white, stuffed full every which way, photos of good spirited, hardworking staunch German relatives who looked straight at the camera. And I am from a more playful and romantic, kindhearted French lineage, too. I am from an orphanage. I am from the sky. I am from the farm.
I (now know) that I am from the notion...
that opposites attract.

(based upon the poem “Where I’m From” by George Ella Lyon done as an exercise)


  1. I thought you were from France, lg. :) I can see you dreaming at your grandparents' house. Life was so simple then, wasn't it? I remember the lush grass in my grandparents' back yard. The huge pecan tree in the middle of it all. An ice cream churn that everyone took turns cranking.

    The weekend my father died, my sister and I went out on an errand and decided to drive by that house. It was gone! The yard was still there though, overgrown now, and the pecan tree. An errant jonquil bloomed in the front. My sister wanted to dig it up (strange that it was blooming in December), but I thought the hands that planted it so long ago would want it left there.

  2. Lynn~ what a nice post today! I am running out the door but will get back to this later. Thank you for sharing that.
    (in my dreams I am from France!)

  3. I'm back!
    How very sad that the house you lived in...was gone! Oh- I think that I would have truly cried Lynn. :-( I have an interesting story about the 2 story house my Mom grew up in. I had a girlfriend in grade school and went to her house to visit; came home and told my mom all about it. My mom asked me about the house; where it was her childhood home that had been moved w-a-y across town to another location. New family in it but I got to romp through it whenever I visited my friend! Cool-eh? I thought that was unusual...

  4. Wonderful post and blog!
    Happy weekend to you, regards from Norway

  5. Hey Spiderdama...thanks for stopping by! Your blog has truly gorgeous photos as well!

  6. Wow - that is an astounding story about the house being the very same one!

    That was actually my grandparents' house in Macon, Georgia. They moved to that house when my dad was a teenager and my grandmother sold it when she was 80 and moved to assisted living. My dad told me that the person who bought it didn't take care of it - he and mom drove down that street a few years ago and saw that it was empty and the roof was caving in. So sad. It was a wonderful home to visit. The street just wasn't a good one anymore.


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Lois Nancy

This artwork is my mother's. It touches my heart.    (So gentle.)   A thoughtful depiction of something sweet, tiny, and cute.   'Wa...