I realize that my ‘readership’ has changed over the four years I’ve been blogging. Some of you have been here all along (thank you), but many of you are fairly recent followers.
So I thought it might be fun to occasionally share a blog post from the past. I apologize to those of you for whom this will be a rerun. This was first published on September 22, 2011, for Mama Kat’s Writer Workshop. If I had to choose, this would probably be my favorite post of all that I’ve written.
For Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop today, I chose a prompt that was both challenging and fun. It’s apparently a rather popular writing prompt. You begin with a “template” and fill in the blanks to best describe your beginnings. This is mine:
I am from silos and linoleum floors and rural free delivery; from a tiny Zenith black and white tv, Barbie dolls and Beatles records.
I am from a white house beside a pond, where the frogs sang me to sleep on summer nights; where the scent from a nearby dairy farm was simply bovine.
I am from the jonquils and irises along the fence row, snaps, butterbeans and corn from Mama’s garden, and Sweet Williams and peach-colored gladioli from Grandma’s yard.
I am from family reunions the first Saturday every August, and aunts and uncles sharing stories of their childhood at Bacon’s Castle; from a Mom named Donnie (after her grandmother) and a Dad named Willie and grandparents, Mae and Ben.
I am from dinner at mid-day and supper in the evening, summer days in a big front yard and summer nights in the porch swing.
From don’t slam the screen door and it’s just the wind, go back to sleep.
I am from Baptist revivals on hot summer nights, Christmas pageants and Junior Choir practice.
I am from a small town in Virginia, rich in history, but forgotten by time; from fried chicken and creamed potatoes topped with a spoonful of garden peas.
From the nearby country store owned by my Grandma, where we ate ginger snaps and cheese, where customers bought bologna by the pound, and Grandma wrapped it in butcher paper and tied it with twine.
I am from a treasured old blue binder full of pages of our family history, traced back to Jamestown; the dates of more recent births, marriages and deaths penciled in the margins.
These are but a few of the people, places and things that shaped the person that I am today. And I’m grateful for each one of them.
~These Days Of Mine~