I'm still bouncing back here, so next week I'll have the whole account of a recent joyful event in our lives. The last time I reported on something like this
was in 2021. (Subtle, eh?)
I Am From
Karen Edmisten
I am from knee socks, Hostess cupcakes, and patent leather Mary Janes worn home from the store. From hollyhock dolls*, dandelion bouquets, and lightning bugs in the backyard at dusk.
I am from Santa Claus, the Easter bunny, and a squishy pillow at the drive-in, a six-year-old’s safety in the cocoon of a dark car.
I am from “I’m rubber, you’re glue,” and “Nuh-uh is not a word, Karen.” (“Nuh-uh,” I’d retort, “I can make it a word if I want to.”)
I am from Alaskan glaciers, the sunrise on the Florida coast, road trips, and airplanes. I am from everywhere and nowhere, the child of a pilot and his bride.
I am from Air Force brats bonding through a shared, strange life, from always being the new kid in school, from learning how cruel and how kind children can be.
I am from laughing with my sister so hard it makes my stomach hurt.
I am from the shock of having life turned inside out and upside down, from learning that sometimes things must be torn down before they can be rebuilt.
I am from celebrating rebuilding, from being remade again and again.
I am from Tom, I am from Emily, Lizzy, and Kate. I am from five other babies I never met (but who I feel cheering me on daily.)
I am from bewilderment at the concept that marriage and motherhood could make me happy.
I am from that happiness.
I am from my discovery of home education.
I am from Anne-with-an-e, Betsy-Tacy, and Ramona Quimby. From George Eliot, Madeleine L’Engle, and Rumer Godden, from Wendell Berry, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Richard Wilbur, Louisa May Alcott, Anne Tyler, and Nora Ephron. I am from endless authors and perennial poets, from read-alouds, and verse, and from the joy of the book log.
I am from the simplest pleasures: dark chocolate, steaming coffee, walking, friends, talking, iced coffee, theater, autumn and spring, and letters. Still letters.
I am from words, paper, typewriters, desktops, laptops, manuscripts, books, and the Oxford comma.
I am from nomads, from possibilities, from imagination.
I am from a longing for roots, found finally in the knowledge that this earth is not a nomad's home.
And here's another past version:
I Am From
I am from knee socks, Hostess cupcakes
and black patent leather shoes worn home from the store.
I am from coast to coast, from everywhere and nowhere,
the child of a pilot and his bride. I am from base housing,
plain vanilla walls and Barbie clothes sewn from Thailand’s silk.
I am from holly hock dolls and walking to school,
from dandelion bouquets, from Alaskan glaciers and the sun
rising over the Atlantic on a Florida coast.
I am from summer car trips to Grandma and Grandpa's,
with stops to see Lookout Mountain and the Truman Museum
along the way.
I am from staid New England stock, from Indiana folks,
from John and Norma, Madeline and Jim.
I am from lightning bugs in the backyard
and the comforting scent of Grandma's Noxzema.
I am from “Be polite” and “Do your best,”
and “Goodnight, John-boy” at bedtime,
from “I’m rubber, you’re glue,”
and from “Nuh-uh is not a word.”
I am from my squishy pillow at the drive-in,
from a six-year-old’s delight in the
dark, safe cocoon of the family car.
I am from Santa Claus and Easter eggs, dinnertime grace,
and from bedtime prayers that faded away.
I am from Germany and Wales, from homecooked meals,
decorated doll cakes** on my birthday,
and home-sewn clothes
that made me proud of my mother’s skill.
From Grandma, who thought I loved peas
because I gobbled them up (just to get rid of them),
and from Grandpa, who convinced me
that a signal tower was his own private Christmas tree.
I am from my grandmother’s habit of smearing butter
on a scraped knee, and taking me to “the grocery”
no matter what store it was.
I am from Mom, who decorated the house for every holiday,
and took us blueberry hunting by the creek;
from Dad, who told me that thunder
was the giants bowling in the sky,
and whose hand holding mine is the only thing I remember seeing
when he returned from a year in Korea.
I am from Air Force brats bonding through a shared, strange life,
from a family who taught me without words that "skin color"
meant nothing and “human being” meant everything.
I am from nomads, from possibilities and from imagination.
I am from a longing for roots, found finally, and only, in God.
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