Thursday, August 4, 2011

Where I'm From

Welcome to my blog!  This has been a long time coming.  I am a writer, yet I have dreaded this first post - mainly because I didn't know how to introduce myself or this blog.  Well, one of the many hats I wear in life is that of teacher.  So I just put on my English teacher hat and thought about the activities I engage my students in at the beginning of the school year in order for them to introduce themselves and for me and their classmates to get to know them better. 

So - I am going to give you my version of the poem Where I'm From by George Ella Lyon.  You can see his version of the poem here. This is something I gave my students at the end of the school year last year but plan to use it at the beginning this year.  Basically, I give them a template of his poem with blanks and they just fill them in based on their own life, family and experiences - creating a unique poem with each new writer.  So hopefully this will give you some insight to who I am and how that has evolved into what you read here.  I hope you like it - enjoy and come back soon.  I have lots of recipes, quilting and crafting projects to share!

Where I'm From
I am from the kitchen sink, from Dawn and
   sweeping the floor while listening to the Quiet Storm
I am from the little house with the car port.
   Conveniently located, noisy, always humming
I am from the hibiscus and peony bushes,
   the chestnut trees whose prickly burrs are still buried in the soles of my feet
I am from choosing fabrics for all the clothes mom made for me, wearing glasses and finger toes
   from Fannie and Faye, totally different, equally admired
I'm from talking loud to be heard above the planes, pack rat tendencies and cooking from scratch.
From get out of the kitchen and I brought you in this world and I will take you out.
I'm from church every Sunday, to the Bible with the creepy pictures on the coffee table
   that we had to sneak to look at.
I am from the souls of black folks, 7-Up Cake and Cha Cha
From sticking a screw up my nose as a toddler and having to get it removed at the ER to the quilts my grandmothers pieced by hand.
Ancestors and memories kept safe in the scrapbook
created by my father to make sure I always know who I am,
where I come from and where I want to go.
 Swinging for the fences.

Daughter Laila and me!

Be blessed - Corynne