I swirled my fingers at my boss this morning and told him that I am so sorry he is a boy and can't have sparkly nails. I implored him not to let the jealousy make him bitter. He just smirked and said "If that's what you need to believe...".
He's so brave to hide his disappointment.
I am from skating rinks and disco balls, from Pac-Man and spreading oak trees and wide, green lawns.
I am from a house with a big, homey kitchen, echoing with the babble of a big family, from creek houses with rooms crammed full of beds and people, from porches with screens and early morning’s quiet sunrise over the water.
I am from the banana trees and Indian Paint Brushes and Black Eyed Susans growing wild in the field.
I am from Sunday dinners and short tempers, from Sanna and George and Creppon’s and Boillin’s. I am from a tendency to hold grudges, depression baby frugality, and the willingness to give the shirt off your back to help a stranger.
I am from mind your manners and act like a lady, from clean your plate because there are starving children in Ethiapoia, from stand up straight, you’re ruining your posture, from try a little harder to be friendly and everyone will like you, and also from flashing porch lights.
I am from strict Catholic parents, from church every Sunday, first communion, first confession and confirmation. I am from ashes smeared on foreheads, dried palm fronds and candle blessings.
I am from Texas, from southern accents, from piney woods, muddy creeks and warm beaches and sand.
I am from Friendswood, from England, Ireland, Germany and Spain, from fried chicken, gumbo and corn on the cob.
I am from a mother who loves to play games and tell stories, from a father who survived losing his own father as a child, from grandparents I never met but still knew, from aunts and uncles and cousins innumerable, from cut-throat games of cards, from Friday night bingo, from salty popcorn and ice cold snow cones at Camp Manison, from cake walks and white elephant booths and books and books and books.
I am from photos that could not be contained in a single album, from pictures on walls and spilling from drawers, of a family too large and complex to contain.
*I got this from Avitable, and if you would like to create your own you can use a template of prompts found here.
For the past two weeks I have been part-time momma to a baby pygmy goat that belongs to my bosses. She was one of three, and the other two babies and mom died during birth. So she comes to work everyday with Brad and his partner Jay, and I get to be momma during the day while Jay is out on appointments. Every day Jay apologizes for leaving her with me, like it's some kind of hardship to have this little miss in my room. Bottle feeding her has been hilarious, and the only time it's a hardship is when she has gas. Oh my, it's hard to believe something so stinky can come from something so cute & tiny. The best part of the day is the last few minutes before five when Jay lets her out of jail and she runs free up and down the hallway. I decided that it's not fair for one person to hoard all the cuteness, so on Friday I videotaped her antics.
Or almost. Almost a year since I last blogged. Sometimes I think I will take this down all together, but I'm glad I didn't. I think I might be feeling like blogging again. I have to admit, I have been cheating with FaceBook. And I'm not giving it up, I just want that to be clear from the start. I think any relationship should be founded on honesty. If you want to be my friend on FaceBook, I would love it. Come find me: Kari Martin
