Where I'M From

I am from bobby pins and countless bottles of Aqua Net hairspray. From yellow blankets and pink satin, Russian Pointe shoes. I am from the yellow house with the brick red roof on the corner of the street. I am from the sprawling orange tree and its sweet smelling blossoms and the mile-high Oleander bushes housing hundreds of pesky orange caterpillars. I am from annual Thanksgiving reunions and southern belles. From Gaetano LaMarca and Prince Pasta. I am from “When I was your age…” and the Thanksgiving talent shows that Aunt Laura always seemed to coax me into participating in. I am from “Tomorrow is another day” and “5…6…7…8!” I am from the body and blood of Christ and the musty incense of Easter vigil mass. I am from sticky and sweet monkey bread and unbearable, soggy, and glutinous southern casseroles. I am from the WOP’s of New England and the Jet Ski that sent my grandmother tumbling into the ocean and the origin of Prince Pasta Wednesdays. I am from towers of elaborate handcrafted Clarice Cliff china and the antique armoires that hold a million memories of the past and a million more to come.