tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19068881.post4361183059032872044..comments2023-04-14T09:43:08.385-05:00Comments on desk full of clutter: from whence come Isamuelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11574060577424187580noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19068881.post-84634274995446300852010-08-04T10:15:07.592-05:002010-08-04T10:15:07.592-05:00Sam, I've seen several of these lately but you...Sam, I've seen several of these lately but yours finally pushed me over the edge to joining in. I just finished this and may not share it anywhere but here, dunno yet, but since it's southern, I thought you particularly might enjoy:<br /><br /><br />I am from the flickering black-and-white tv set showing The Wizard of Oz once a year, from Holdie's Singer sewing machine and the black Remington my mom typed my dad's dissertation on, late at night in the next room. I am from dime store Silly Putty and the Funk&Wagnall encyclopedia bought with installments especially for me before I even started kindergarten. I am from fresh library books every Saturday morning.<br /><br />I am from boarding houses and student rentals and air force bases, from neat and clean and white walls with no nails because company or the next move could be coming at any moment. I am from being shooed outside until suppertime and then sent to bed before I was sleepy, from sharing a room until high school and sprinkler bottles for ironing shirts, from ladies' sheer stockings lumpy with apples and oranges and nuts on Christmas morning.<br /><br />I am from long hot summers in small southern towns, family-style roasts and rice and gravy after church, from the backyard cucumber and crabapples and bearded irises named Birthday Cake and Top Hat, from Peggy's peach stand and walking a dog named Peaches, barefoot in the red clay, up to the post office where we still had box number one because Granddaddy was once the postmaster, then past the old high school up to the deliciously shuddery air-conditioned drugstore for comic books.<br /><br />I am from stepping on bees and rusty nails and a metal garden border that nearly cut off my big toe, from casts for broken bones and a horse stepping on my foot, from braces and basketball and my best friend Julie. I am from fat people referred to as "stout" and "poor thing."<br /><br />I am from a ridiculous first crush on Edward Booker, the doctor's son across the street whose mother insisted he take me to a James Bond movie in Greenville when I was 13, double-dating with his older brother Robert who drove, and then social duty done, mercifully left Edward's love life to him, which was no doubt best for us all.<br /><br />I am from babysitters and parade floats and not being without a girdle much less in curlers, from Crescent Beach sunburns and Gone With the Wind worship, from ice cream churns and Gator football and road trips to Cypress Gardens and Six Gun Territory, from thank-you notes and chafing dishes with sterno.<br /><br />I am from Cool Springs and Clemson and Stribling Shoals, from the fish camp and state park, Clayton and the Dillard House, from Ira and Alice and childhood sweethearts Johnny and Suzie, from watching my dad watch cousin Jimmy Orr from Seneca catch passes from Johnny Unitas.<br /><br />I am from knowing how to behave and delayed gratification and rising above, from ma'am and sir and first names preceded by Miss. I am from land and education as the only things that last, that no one can take away, from teachers' pets, team captains and community service.<br /><br />I am from polite, restrained country churches where everyone's parents parent you, from advent wreaths and casseroles, singing alto in the choir and playing my acoustic guitar for sunrise services which seemed radical at the time. I am from no politics in prayer and no prayer in public.JJ Rosshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03493570025415687789noreply@blogger.com