Where I'm From

I read about this "Where I'm From" contest today at Owlhaven. Entries are due by noon tomorrow. I actually wrote this when I first started blogging, so it's emerging from the archives. There is a prize for most referrals, so if you visit Owlhaven, in the regular comments section of this post say “Hi, I’m here from Mommy Dearest!” I know this isn't much notice for a writing contest, but I think you will enjoy this if you have the time. I still remember the evening I wrote this; it was like a walk down memory lane.

Where I'm From

I am from softballs, from Furr’s Cafeteria and ice cream with little wooden spoons.

I am from hiding in the laundry hamper, duck when a car comes, pet mice, kittens, blue glass bathroom knobs, “made in occupied Japan” figurines, and pink shag carpet. From Lollie, Panda, and Robbie.

I am from the Caudles’ attic and Grandmother Warden’s front porch swing.

I am from the mimosa tree with the concrete patch in the middle, the weeping willow and the magnolia, window boxes with red geraniums.

I am from family loyalty and ringing in New Year’s Eve on the curbside with the tambourine, from Aunt Thelma and Aunt Mayme, Grandmother and Granddad Piles, and Grandmother and Pappy. I am from real hot chocolate and homemade chocolate covered cherries on Christmas Eve.

I am from my father’s honesty and my mother’s wisdom.

From “don’t eat ice cream and go outside,” and “more can be bought.”

I am from the Old Baptists and salvation by grace. I am from annual meetings, foot washing, lunch at church, and Amazing Grace.

I'm from the South – “American by birth, but Southern by the grace of God,” biscuits dipped in sorghum and butter, cornbread in a cast iron skillet, hot brownies covered in melted butter, Mrs. Butterworth, and JIF.

From marking the “day of terror” on calendars with Blake; Skip-Bo, Taboo, and Trivial Pursuit at the kitchen table; softball tournaments; Laura falling over with her blanket; Barbies with Jamie; playing HORSE with Daddy, Blake, and Steve.

I am from Daddy’s guitar and watching him sing with Mother for hours at a time. I am from Brown-Eyed Girl, Hang on Sloopy, and Teenager in Love.

I am from Fort Smith, from Jasper and Eureka Springs and Weleetka, from riding behind Daddy on the back of a motorcycle. I am from a family with roots that time or distance can’t sever.

Writing Contest - Deadline Tomorrow!

Thanks to A Circle of Quiet, I read about a writing contest to encourage bloggers to post their "Where I Am From" poems, sponsored by Joy in the Morning. This is based on the poem Where I'm From by George Ella Lyons. You can read the entire poem here. If you would like to write your own, click here for the template. To enter the contest, you must post your poem before June 21st at 11:59 EDT. Following is my poem.

Where I'm From

I am from softballs, from Furr’s Cafeteria and ice cream with little wooden spoons.

I am from hiding in the laundry hamper, duck when a car comes, pet mice, kittens, blue glass bathroom knobs, “made in occupied Japan” figurines, and pink shag carpet. From Lollie, Panda, and Robbie.

I am from the Caudles’ attic and Grandmother Warden’s front porch swing.

I am from the mimosa tree with the concrete patch in the middle, the weeping willow and the magnolia, window boxes with red geraniums.

I am from family loyalty and ringing in New Year’s Eve on the curbside with the tambourine, from Aunt Thelma and Aunt Mayme, Grandmother and Granddad Piles, and Grandmother and Pappy. I am from real hot chocolate and homemade chocolate covered cherries on Christmas Eve.

I am from my father’s honesty and my mother’s wisdom.

From “don’t eat ice cream and go outside,” and “more can be bought.”

I am from the Old Baptists and salvation by grace. I am from annual meetings, foot washing, lunch at church, and Amazing Grace.

I'm from the South – “American by birth, but Southern by the grace of God,” biscuits dipped in sorghum and butter, cornbread in a cast iron skillet, hot brownies covered in melted butter, Mrs. Butterworth, and JIF.

From marking the “day of terror” on calendars with Blake; Skip-Bo, Taboo, and Trivial Pursuit at the kitchen table; softball tournaments; Laura falling over with her blanket; Barbies with Jamie; playing HORSE with Daddy, Blake, and Steve.

I am from Daddy’s guitar and watching him sing with Mother for hours at a time. I am from Brown-Eyed Girl, Hang on Sloopy, and Teenager in Love.

I am from Fort Smith, from Jasper and Eureka Springs and Weleetka, from riding behind Daddy on the back of a motorcycle. I am from a family with roots that time or distance can’t sever.

Our first quilting bee, and rediscovering a little piece of family history...

Sabra and I were invited on Friday to join some other moms and daughters in our homeschool group who are interested in quilting. We will meet about every two weeks this summer and work on our individual quilts; in between meetings we will work at home on our own. We need to bring our own portable sewing machines, however I only have one that is built into its own cabinet. Or so I thought. When we got there we saw two new portable sewing machines and one old black Singer. As I looked at the Singer, I recognized it and remembered that I actually own one like it. It belonged to my Grandmother Weisinger, my dad's mom. I had not seen or even thought of this sewing machine in years, and I don't think I would have even remembered it if I hadn't seen this one. I called Bryan and asked him about it; he remembered the machine and its carrying case, however he hadn't seen it since we moved last August. The other ladies were very excited about it, too, and one knew of a gentleman in Alabama who could service it for a very reasonable cost. By the time we left this first bee, Sabra had completed her first square and has the fabric to make four more before our next meeting.

When we got home, Sabra went straight to the basement. A few minutes later, she returned beaming, with Christian behind her carrying the sewing machine in its original black carrying case. A musty odor wafted from inside as we opened the lid. It smelled of history, but more than that - my history. I've learned that our machine is a Singer Featherweight, which will only sew in a straight line, but is considered a gem for quilting. Based on the serial number, ours is a 1951 model. It has already made its journey to Alabama, since we discovered it just in time to hitch a ride with one of our quilting friends. In my online research, I've also discovered that the 1951 models are called "Centennials," since the company was founded in 1851. Here is a little Featherweight Centennial history:

Singer Featherweight Centennials

Singer, rightfully proud of its company history, decided to celebrate its centenary in 1951 by giving all machines made that year a special badge. This was the standard Singer emblem of the time but with the inscription "A Century of Sewing Service 1851-1951" around the outside of the oval. These "limited edition" models made for only one year are becoming increasingly difficult to find. Most have 1951 serial numbers but authenticated models with 1948 to 1952 serial numbers have been located - suggesting that the company held vast stocks and simply badged machines just prior to dispatch. The Centennial Featherweights are mechanically identical to the standard 221 - and only the badge identifies them cosmetically.

I learned this after my machine left on vacation, so I'll have to wait until it returns to check for the special centennial badge. How exciting! My friend was very impressed by the condition of our machine. It didn't look its 55 years!

As we left our first quilting bee, I felt that my horizons had just been expanded - so much new knowledge to assimilate! - and at the same time I felt drawn to my roots. The women from generations past in my family were quilters. I have family quilts which are some of my most treasured possessions and are priceless to me. At my wedding shower I was given a wedding quilt that was made for me by my great-grandmother, who was no longer living. In my basement I have at least five quilt tops which were hand-sewn but never pieced together with a back. Quilting is something that I really want to learn to do, and Sabra wants it, too. I hope that this is something that we can learn to do together, and in so doing preserve our family's quilting tradition and resurrect my grandmother's old sewing machine, a treasure in its own right.