151f61dfa554e579.jpg     I am from teeter totters and “I Love Lucy”, from Ovaltine that never really tasted like chocolate and St. Joseph’s baby aspirin rich in that wondrous orange flavor which I took for candy.

I am from the white and grey apartment squeezed between many of the same with fake wooden shutters with chipped brown flakes resting on the welcome mat.  The house with high windows far above the beds, so high that the outside world could barely be seen from the tip toes of two little girl’s standing atop the beds. Where the rolling dishwasher made trips from corner to corner during the earth’s call to us, screaming I am here you best listen. The house where everyone knew everyone’s name and complete life history, except for the person called “My Son” who to this day the name remains unknown. The house where a father raised daughters with laughter and tears; and where the alley was the road to “Let’s make a deal.”

I am from the jungle of ivy imprisoning the residents to their homes unless crossing through them cautiously as though it was a matter of life and death.  I am from the warm redness puddle at my feet in an early attempt to defy Ms. Ivy. The sweet smells of spring which marries the nose with the greatest of ease to cause hay fever and tears. I am from the hills of Hollywood and green like hills thought to be mine and mine alone.

I am from bean and bacon soup and tuna sandwiches every Friday night, joined in partnership with kerosene lamps and radio mystery shows; always bringing forth a fear so happily accepted. From a family who could go months without seeing each other and pick up right where they left off on the last word spoken. I am from an uncle who lived to travel the world through words, carried over land and sea via CB radio, and an aunt who accepted the motherhood role at times only to punish as equally as she did her own children. I am from a wonderful sister who didn’t understand the meaning of “No I won’t sing there’s a hole in the bucket” anymore and with great ease a sister who pulled one hair out of a tender head and said simply, “Sing.” I am from early memories of childhood joy until the newcomers came to invade the bliss of life I called mine.

From the fear that the man in the moon could truly see me as I saw him and the lies about the newcomers who came to conquer life as it was known and cherished.

I am from a community of Jews never knowing a gentile until living into two digits years. From Friday night services with pretty stained glass windows calling the bright sun out to play to Sunday school teachings. From beautiful sounds of deep vibrato, heavy scrolls passing before the eye, and words sometimes not understood.  

I am from the Hatfield and McCoy’s and always cautious to not cross the paths. From Oscar Meyer and the Winerschnitzel hot dog car, and home made candy. From lifesaver cookies to mountains of divinity cramping the stomachs of every child within 100 miles. I am from matzah bri and blintzes calling to a grumbling stomach and chocolate covered hallavah melting in a warm mouth.

From a father who stared society in the eye raising two daughters on his own when being in the care of a father was not popular. I am from a father who dedicated the first 10 or so years of his life to his family, children, and work, so that his children could have the basic necessities of life. From a father who cooked massive amounts of sweets every time his belt buckle got too tight, a man that cooked the sweets but never ate them. From a man who forgot all that he had done and brought others into the safe and secure world only to cause lasting memories of pain and sorrow. I am from a father that allowed his new wife to change all that was good in the precious gift called family.  I am also from a mother who was never meant to be a mother and still has not acquired the tools to take on the difficult job.

I am from very few photos, cracked and bent, as the family denigrated before my peak. From lyrics of songs only loved because they were her songs. I am from Deep Purple Haze and Donny Osmond songs sung with passion and puppy love. From backyard plays and theater curtains made from sheets. I am from riding bikes in the alley and calling it “Freeway” with penalties so horrendous they dare not be spoke of.

I am from where I am today, a mother of three, a former nursemaid, chauffer, and teacher. From marriage and divorce and beginnings and endings; from new loves and found passion.

I am from great quotes and poignant lyrics; lover of words and verbal expression.  I am from grey. I am here, I am there, I am nowhere. I neither bask in the light or cower in shadows. I blend into the scenery. You see me and you don't. I am the absence of color and all colors in one. I am the shade no one speaks of. I am grey. I am a work in progress and a woman whose mood changes with the wind. I am an equation that few figure out, but if figured out cherished for eternity. I am completely devoted in spite of my own insanity.

I am me in all its glory and darkness. From poetic chaos I am simply – me.

Stolen from Nance who stole it from supposedly sane who got it from HERE