The Fresh Page/Where I’m From

I’ve been away from the computer for more than a few days… and it was so refreshing that I was tempted to extend the period. Respite from the worrisome issues of the news, and problems and all those things which we, and our media, tend to concentrate upon. It has the effect of a clean slate of ideas, in a way. Actually I just lose my place!

But in the serendipity of the moment I will just go with that, and do a bit of a meme found @ Praties Place.

Where I’m From

I am from Ovaltine mornings and hula hoop days, from playing Barbie dolls and coffee flavored milk, from wax candy lips, Peter Maxx scarves, and Cher haircuts.

I am from the old house journals, the fix-it renovations, the make-do or do without, the mess covered with coverlet throws, and stuffed in closets, the creatures under the bed and fairy homes in the sandbox, the old fashioned gardens and fresh tomatoes, the clash and the quarantined room.

I am from the ghostly giant sycamores, the mossy ground beneath old forsythias, the woodland grottoes, and the morning call of the mourning dove.

I am from formal Hungarian dinners, big family reunions, from concerts and classical music, and generous giving and stingy withholding, social climbing and social disdain, sharp looks and sharper tongues, from men who leave and women who cry, from the MacDougall and the Tomcsanyi, and family secrets.

I am from the determination to overcome challenges and the shrinking despair, from pride and from guilt, and love of freedom.

From the proper way to do things, goads to turn over a new leaf, and portents of the worst that could happen.

I am from faith of the Reformed and doubt of the disbelieving. From stalwart Protestants and Catholics who lost their way.

I’m from the cornfields of Ohio and the waters of the Great Lakes, from stuffed cabbages and Chinese take-out, tortes and orange sweet rolls.

From the Scottish blackguard, and the Hungarian immigrant, women who supported their families as they could, the pastor grandfather who loved to fish and loved his garden, and the grandmother who found solace from care in hers, the great-grandmother Mertz renowned for her occult powers, and great-grandfather Tomcsanyi who made and lost fortunes.

I am from Hudson Bay Traders and Hungarian nobility, the flood-stained, century-beaten charter red-wax-sealed by King Ferdinand- passed to the first sons, the Canadian history and the Ojibwa branch of the family, the pried out stories and the knick-knack bric-a brac.

I’m from all these things, but I’ve become my own.