I blame Julie

I’ve been a bit of a blog slacker. I’ve been writing the new story and watching Olympics. So, when I checked on The Radical Write and saw her ‘I am from...’ challenge, I thought I’d give it a try. It reminded me that I’m kind of funny about prompts myself. Many, including this one, assume that people are really grounded in the details and the sensory information of life, but I’m not so much. I enjoy the sensory, tactile world and I enjoy a good meal but the experiences flow past me. The one major thing I like about the Myers-Briggs personality profile is that it gives me a context to explain myself. I chart out the intuitive rating-- it’s kind of refreshing in a weird way if I get a single blip on the sensor side. These prompts that are designed to elicit the what, where, and when information are a bit sloppy for me. I guess investigative journalism is out. Oh, well.

I am from...

I am from the giant willow tree, paperback books, the pool and the local fire department where Dad worked.

I am from the middle of Ohio-- with a fairly common Scots, Welsh, German blend (we don’t go gently into that good night). Things weren’t always tidy but Mom kept it clean, in more ways than one.

I am from the deep part of the beautiful river and from the rocks and caves in Hocking Hills whose winding paths I remember as old friends.

I am from perseverance and mischief, from an irresistible force and an immovable object.
I am from reserve and strong words and from getting it done and making it work.

I am from precious and space cadet and this too shall pass.

I am from creamy casseroles for dinner and doritos with homemade chili con queso and egg rolls we assembled ourselves.

I am from the hospital my mother almost didn’t reach (I was impatient form the beginning) and a joke for every occasion.

I am from my grandmother who had the profound commitment to us that makes God’s loyalty make sense, and she could be the iron fist in the velvet glove to those who crossed her protected ones. Sometimes I find a recipe in her handwriting stuffed randomly in the pages of my Fannie Farmer cookbook.


(This was a whole lot of me-- I have a shy streak, blogging feels weird to me.) K.P.