I am from a Cranberry scented candle sitting on a stovetop in a freshly cleaned kitchen, from Lipton sweet tea straight from the bottle when the sun is blazing down and gingersnaps. I am from the Baptist parsonage with the foreboding white Colonial pillars. I am from windows covered with curtains that some other lady picked. I am from tall vases of gladiolas at June weddings, from lilac bushes in the Spring and the pretty redbud tree in my backyard. I am from a noisy supper table with five conversations going on all at once and from hot cocoa on cold Wednesday nights after church. From a husband who covers me with a quilt when I am cold and sits in the kitchen while I cook. From children who bring me belly laughs and good times. From fear of a future that might consist of bouncing around in an empty house and wondering where the time went. I am from constant interruptions and forgotten permission slips. From always wearing a dress to church because it’s the right thing to do and respecting all the grown-ups by calling them "Mr." and "Mrs." I am from using black ink when formal stationary is involved. I am from the big Baptist church on the bad side of town. From 33 buses overflowing with kids from the inner city with cornrows in their hair. I am from strong, emotional preaching and "I’d rather burn out than rust out." I am from watching Mrs. Snow from afar, wearing her culottes and vacuuming her stairs and fixing her children afternoon snacks. I am from the pink Catholic hospital in Tulsa and from my husband’s beloved Ozark hills. I’m from Cajun beans and rice with hot buttery cornbread. From a grandmother sitting in a big green chair, who was always too busy reading her books to talk to me. From hating going to her apartment at Christmas time. From the same stack of comic books that I read a million times in her back room because she had nothing else for me to do while I was there. I am from flying down the back roads in the back of my dad’s baby blue pick-up. From chocolate ice cream on my face and in my hair. From laughing at my little sister who looked as funny as I did and candy cigarettes that only dad would let us buy. I’m from a hat box stuffed with love letters from my husband who wrote them all by hand because there was no such thing as the internet or email. From half finished baby books and 10 boxes of newspaper clippings and cheap photographs. From pictures of a very young woman who vaguely looks like me. I am from a hallway lined with pictures of five babies who looked identical at birth but later morphed into their own beautiful selves. I am from a fresh new notebook on the first day of school and a fresh new start when I confess to Him that I’ve done it again. I am from grace. *** Mary over at Owlhaven is doing the "I Am From" poems. You can see a template here. They're so fun to read, and also to write once you get going. You should do one too! She has a link to get the form, so click on over there and try it out for yourselves. I think I'm going to make my kids do one too.