Where I'm From

Thank you to Joy for sharing this idea. If you want to play along, you can find the template to write one here.

Where I’m From

I am from the hairbrush that became a microphone when Olivia Newton-John, Michael Jackson or Andy Gibb’s voices echoed from my stereo speakers. I’m from Cheerwine and Yoo-Hoo, Krispy Kreme Doughnuts and Richard Petty.

I am from the English Tudor tucked in the woods at the end of a residential street. From the ranch house in the country with white paint haphazardly slapped onto the chain link fence.

I am from the dogwood trees and azaleas that grow in the yard, and the tobacco plant that made it possible for some in my family to make a living.

I am from the place where you can drive a golf cart before you know your multiplication tables and it’s perfectly acceptable to dress a cat in baby doll clothes.

I am from Carl and Norma, Fred and Helen, Sharon and Alan, and Norman. I am from a host of cousins I call ‘aunts and uncles,’ as well as cousins who are more like siblings.  I'm from ‘adopted grandparents’ and a church family that loves me like I’m kin.

I am from “good morning, sunshine,” and “goodnight, love you, see you in the morning.”

From “He made you something special; you’re the only one of your kind,” and “I love you a bushel and a peck.”

I am from the Moravian Church, with its’ Lovefeasts, stars, candlelight services with crimson trimmed candles, and hymns that I still hum and sing as I go about my day.

I'm from the city of Winston-Salem, nestled in the rolling hills of North Carolina. From Cherokee Indians and hard-working people who settled there generations before. I’m from blackberries growing on vines, vegetables from our garden, sugar cake, Dewey’s cake squares and homemade blueberry muffins.

From the woman who agreed to visit her brother’s friend in the hospital, as a favor to her brother, and ended up visiting her future husband. I’m from the man who drove a truck around the country to make a living to support his wife and children.

I am from the school pictures hanging on my Meme’s wall - one for each year from kindergarten through 12th grade, the Kimball organ that I “performed” on, the twin beds that I grew up sleeping in – and still sleep in when I go back to visit. I’m from the little grocery store on the corner, the old water pump in Salem Square, and the folks who know everything about me, and love me anyway.

Stacey's Got a Brand New Blog

I was inspired to start my very own little blog today. I was inspired while reading the blog of a friend of mine. I read several posts, and some made me laugh, others made tears come to my eyes. All of them were great in their own way, and each was just a glimpse into her life, thoughts, plans, hopes, dreams, fears. It made me want to capture some of MY thoughts, dreams, hopes, fears, plans, too. Perhaps if I can lasso some of these things and put them in writing, I can do actually do something with them or about them.

This isn't my first attempt at creating a blog. My first is a family newsletter of sorts -- The Scott Family Times. It's still hanging out there in cyber-space . . . it just hasn't been updated since January 2010. That's certainly not because there hasn't been anything going on in the Scott Family -- quite the contrary. I think it's just overwhelming for me to try to write new posts when I'm so far behind. I see this blog as being much more abstract and fun and likely a cathartic exercise for my own brain.

 

I used to keep a journal, and for years I was pretty diligent about it. I would write a page or two almost every night chronicling what I had done that day, what my plans were, who I was "in like" with, and who I was on the outs with. I still have all of them in an old suitcase beneath my guest room bed. I pull them out every few years and read a few pages. I laugh and cringe at what that young girl had to say and what she thought. I'm amazed by the innocence, ignorance, and optimism. I'm sometimes amazed that I made it through those years. Sometimes I laugh out loud as I read some of the shenanigans my friends and I got ourselves into. And, sometimes the pain I felt as I wrote of bad times feels fresh all over again. I've tried several times over the past several years to begin the ritual of journaling again. I just can't seem to make it work. Most nights, I fall into bed, utterly exhausted after a day of chasing a toddler around, and the LAST thing I feel like doing is writing an entry in a journal. I'm hoping this will be different. We'll see.

As I contemplated what I would possibly write about, aside from the regular ol' day to day updates, I thought of things I love and started making a list in my mind. I could write post on any of the things I love -- such as, Martha Stewart, sweet tea, stationery (invitations, in particular), music and making play lists, the beach, taking pictures, vacuuming, making 'to-do' lists, and having things "just so". I can also write posts on things I DON'T like -- working out, my penchant for procrastination, feeling lonely. Yes, I think I'll have plenty to keep me busy for a while.

 By the way, I've been singing 'Papa's Got a Brand New Bag' by James Brown the whole time I've been typing this post. :)