I am from mountains of books.
I am from the little multiyellow Vicarage on the street too busy to cross.
I am from the goldfinches, the lady slippers, the peonies and evergreens and changing leaves and Mount Monadnock.
I am from blowing out the lights and lost-in-time-and-spaceness, from ghosts of Lucy and Bobby and Charles.
I am from looking it up and generations of genealogy.
From be always kind and good and don't get your hopes up.
I am from eucharist and women's ordination and coffee hour, from you-don't-have-to-believe-this-but-you-should-believe-something.
I'm from New Hampshire, New Hampshire, New Hampshire, even when Wayland and Arlington and Our Nation's Capital were home, but also from Cambridge and Shreveport, Maine and Michigan, peach cobbler and beans and rice.
From first dates to go vote, fixing plumbing with gum, and getting chased — but not chased off — by the bad guys.
I am from piles of scrapbooks, in the Westchester and the house in Jaffrey and the heads of my parents and remaining aunts and uncles and me, from tales never forgotten but rarely told — or often told but too easily forgotten.
...inspired by Whimsy, who was inspired by Clueless But Hopeful Mama, who got the template here.
Aren't you so excited to do your own? Link in the comments, please.
Day 25 of my month of gratitude: I am grateful for where I'm from and how I am who I am.