{ Blog 364 #27 - I am from.....}

 

 

 

Many years ago, back in 2008, I wrote a blog post  based on a meme that I had seen when I first started blogging.

 

You know when you read an entry on a blog, and it touches you so deeply, and invokes in you a feeling of nostalgia that is hard to shake.

 

The whole premise was to write a post, about where you came from, kind of in poem form but not really.

 

Just putting it down on paper (so to speak).  I immediately knew that I needed to write my own, and even knew what photo to add.  

 

If you've never written one of these, I encourage you to do so.  It is something you will forever remember, and can pass down to your own children and grandchildren.  

 

My grandmother's hands....I LOVE this photo

I AM FROM.....

I am from aprons and great grandmothers cooking in the kitchen, from tea with milk in the morning and wholesome homemade food for dinner.

I am from a seaside town, from fresh seafood and big family gatherings. From the smell of the ocean and the sound of the seagulls, from the narrow roads and the sound of kids playing outside until after sunset, from cashew nuts and warm afternoons on white sandy beaches.

I am from palm trees, from dense scrub-brush and impressive palm groves, from waves washing onto the beach and tourists sun tanning.

I am from big family dinners, talking and singing, from a loving family, from Ema and Eduardo and Odete and Julio, from Jacinta and Antonio. I am from skillful hands, and loving hearts. From talented singers and painters.

I am from Christian family loving people, from dinner tables set for twenty, from beer bottles and wine, from talking too loud and laughing too much. From survivors of the Independence War in Mozambique, from fighters and courageous souls. From Portuguese, Brazilian and French.

I am from "wear a coat or you'll get sick" and from "don't go swimming right after you eat, wait at least 3 hours".

I am from Mozambique and from Portugal, from big plates of prawns and curry, from steaks and fries and from sweet rice pudding.

From the men who went to war during the independence and fought with all their hearts, from the great grandmother and grandmother who bought me little toy pots and pans to practice cooking, from grandfather Julio who loved life and loved to laugh, from grandfather Antonio who was a brilliant guitar player and accompanied one of Portugal's famous Fado singers.

I am from old photographs kept in boxes in the closet, from photo albums stained from age barely holding together the memories of years gone by, from crocheted pot holders created by loving hands and big family trips by car.