Where I'm From. . .
I'm from the Deep South. . .
Atmore, Dauphin Island, the Gulf of Mexico, Mobile Bay,
Mobile Square and grandma and grandpa’s tiny little house.
I'm from Sunbeam bread and Little Debbie Cakes, cold Coca Cola's, fig preserves, shelling peas and fresh cow’s milk.
I’m from my little black "ridey horsey" and Sunday drives.
I’m from old pickup trucks and precious, little old ladies
who didn’t know how to drive.
I'm from the upstairs house with a bird’s eye view,
the old Galloway house, with a ghostly tale
that’s been told more than a time or two.
A little cottage row house, in Cottage Hill
Tossing to and fro at the water’s edge,
to a little country store in the country,
where I can still see the tung nut trees, doodlebugs, wild roses,
blackberry vines, bird nests, pretty blue eggs, and cute baby birds tweeting from their nest in the old Chinaberry tree.
I'm from Spanish moss, Azalea Trails, sandy beaches,
honeysuckle vines, camellias, and corn fields that stretched beyond sight.
I'm from an era and a storybook life that's been lost but not forgotten.
I'm from old smokehouses made out of logs, with dirt floors.
I’m from a time and place that will never be the same.
I'm from big family reunions, memories of those gone on,
whose faces and memories I still mourn.
I’m from the city and the country. From city blocks, and window shopping,
To playing in the loft of a big old red barn full of hay.
I'm from century-old farms and little one-room shanties, that were both still occupied.
From sweet aunties, dear cousins, good times, and laughing 'til we cried.
I'm from little tea parties, family meals, doing chores, and oh,
how I think about it all now and then.
I'm from self-learners and persistence, working hard and
making do, who trusted in the good Lord.
I’m from stories of the Wampus Cat, The Sandman,
tales of buried gold and folks who dug and found some.
I'm from quilting, sewing and keeping house.
From Sunday dinners and taking naps.
I’m from the old school, I know what it’s all about.
I'm from old-time preachin’ and gospel singin’.
Where people knew how to sing, to say Amen.
Old preachers shaking our hands,
rattling the windows with hell, fire, and brimstone,
the Spirit moving, getting our attention,
then kneeling at the altar. Thank God,
I’m from Amazing Grace, Rock of Ages
and 'Neath the Old Olive Trees.
I’m from the Stars Falling, the heart of Dixie,
Mississippi mud, fish fries and hushpuppies.
I’m from raking leaves to run through,
bonfires, and roasting hotdogs.
Watching with amazement the woods
and trees full of lightning bugs.
And the mystery and suspense of family secrets,
told in whispers, in my childhood.
I’m from singin', playin' the piano, writing songs and teaching.
From a grandfather who died, who I barely knew, but missed him when he was gone.
I'm from the grandmother, who died, when my father was just a child, long before I came along.
I'm from a broad family history of music, and am glad it lives on in my children and theirs.
I'm from the little red piano, older friends who taught me to play Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.
I'm from walking down the road to the old white wooden church house to practice on a real piano, music teachers who believed in me.
I'm from piano lessons, recitals, and wish I wasn't so nervous and shy.
I'm from being a church pianist, singing in duets, trio's and quartets, and how I loved it all.
I’m from a storyteller, who also sang delightful songs and ballads, and those haunting lullabies.
I still search for the words, in my mind and heart.
My Scotch-Irish grandpa, my best friend,
I loved him deeply, he was there all the time.
I'm from the signs of the moon and how to plant pumpkins,
told by my grandmother who was part Indian.
I'm from homemaking, sewing, cooking with little, and much more that I remember.
I’m from southern gospel quartets, the harmony of kin and kindred.
I'm from the old white wooden church-houses where the songs somehow sounded better back then.
I'm from those sacred places, sanctified by hymns, praise, testimony, spoken Word and prayer.
I'm from Cottage Prayer meetings, Homecoming Sundays, and Dinner on the Ground.
I'm from week-long revivals, altar calls, and being truly revived.
I’m from the old community house, lined with short church pews, where it held temporary church, heated business meetings, warm and cozy from the big old gas heaters.
I'm from when the new church was built, the excitement of new Sunday School rooms, new pews, new curtains, carpet, central air conditioning and heating. sparkling clean indoor bathrooms, instead of the scary old outhouses of my childhood.
I'm from VBS, happy times, with stories, crafts, friends,
refreshments, Jack's cookies, and Kool-Aid were so good.
I'm from wedding cakes, baby showers and celebrating forthcoming births.
I’m from a place and time where men worked in the fields,
women cooked big dinners, where everyone was welcome.
I'm from children who minded their manners and happily played outside 'til dusk.
I'm from tumbling down grassy hillsides,
pecan orchards, cold gurgling creeks, such a cool retreat from the heat, and freezing when we rode home in the bed of the pickup truck.
I'm from bare dirt yards that were swept with a broom. a swinging gate, with a weight tied on a chain, to help it close, and eating the best cakes a sweet great-aunt always baked when we went there on a Sunday afternoon.
I'm from playing Go Fish with a real deck of cards, fussing with my cousins about who won.
I'm from the pretty bedroom with the fancy blue vanity bench, and another sunny pretty bedroom with lavender and purple touches everywhere, that I wished was mine,
I'm from playing hide and seek, Simon Says, and teasing the big mean bulls that pawed the ground, charged, and nearly tore the fence down.
I'm from Home Ec, sewing, lessons in Etiquette, and practicing cooking and cleaning in a real furnished kitchen.
I'm from wash tubs to bathe in, cold springs to chill milk jugs,
and fun streams in the woods where we played.
I'm from the women fetching water buckets full of water for the washtubs, then washing and scrubbing the dirty clothes on a rub board.
I’m from vintage laundry sprinkler bottle tops, on glass Coca Cola bottles, filled with starch water to sprinkle on clean clothes, fresh off the clothesline.
I'm from watching my aunt rolling up the clothes, then putting them in the fridge to chill, and later she ironed them to have crisply starched clothes.
I'm from cooling down with a Coca Cola with ice inside the green bottles, and I wish they tasted the same now.
I'm from pretty little cotton dresses, long colorful cotton skirts, big cotton bonnets, Brogan boots, overalls and black felt Stetson hats.
I’m from doll clothes made on an old treadle machine, an old trunk full of faint memories of my mother's childhood in the pictures stacked in there,
I'm from fragrant lavender wisterias shaped like an umbrella,
by my grandpa’s loving hands.
I'm from Friscattas, Azaelas, and the purple painted trail on the streets in Mobile.
I’m from magnolias, moonlight and twinkling ripples
on a big sunlit lake,
I'm from catching two seven pound catfish with a bamboo fishing pole, and an uncle who had to help me pull them onto shore.
I'm from the laughter of my friendly kin folks, dry humor from a few, the learning, and the wonder of it all.
I’m from good times, hard times, but love all around.
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Thoughts on the new year. . .
While everybody wants a fairytale life, let's be honest, and for the ones who might say I had the perfect life, think again. . . and probably very few of us has the perfect story to tell, if you're really honest. Such is life. But why dwell on it? Why harp on something? I'm tired of hearing it in my head, and I'm tired of thinking about how it could have been different, I'm just over it. Aren't we all tired of that? I hope everyone is at a place where they can put the past and it's bad memories, mistakes and failed dreams to rest, once and for all.
I have LOTS of good memories, as you can tell from the post on the left, and I'm choosing to dwell on the good, blessed things.
With the new year, let's have determination to focus more on the good things, blessings, things to be thankful for. . .Sure, we all have to come to terms with our less-than perfect past. We just need to ask the Lord for help, ask Him for forgiveness, forgive people, and ask people for forgiveness, if this is what is called for.
Some people want to keep the negative things alive, and they want you to continue to talk about things! That just keeps it all alive and active, in my opinion. Once we talk to the Lord, that is all that is required in my opinion. Because there are people who have no intention of forgiving you, and talking to them about it just creates more ill feelings. They seem to "glory in your sin or weakness." And if you're not careful, you might find yourself slipping back into having hard feelings about it again.
Just do as the scripture says, pray without ceasing.*; give thanks in everything!** Both good and bad! It's what has shaped us into who and what we are now. If that is less than perfect, then work on it more diligently.* Don't wait until it's too late to put those things into perspective, get on with living, and truly enjoy life. Read your bible, pray, and have fellowship***(1) with like-minded believers***(2) and those with similar interests.**** Not only will these things make our life better now, but after we are gone, which is very important also.
When you're thankful, forgiving, forgiven, and walking in these daily, you'll have a much harder time being unthankful, and dwelling on the less-than perfect past.
*Pray without ceasing. I Thess. 5:17 (KJV)
**In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you. I Thess. 5:18 (KJV)
***(1) Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of some is; but exhorting one another: and so much the more, as ye see the day approaching. Hebrews 10:25 (KJ V)
***(2) Like-minded believers - Philipianns 2:2
****People who share common beliefs or interests. Description HERE (Vocabulary.com)
All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness. 2 Timothy 3:16-17 (KJV)
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