It’s Friday and I’ve taken a day off from all this writing this past month.
So I sat with Lisa-Jo’s prompt all day and we’ll see what comes out.
Join the fun by clicking over to her site and linking your own
five minutes of unscripted, unedited response to the prompt: ROOTS
GO:
They go down deep into the dusty soil
of southern California,
pushing their strong tendrils
between the valleys
San Fernando and San Gabriel,
finally winding their way
up the coast
to Santa Barbara.
My parents were transplants,
one from the south,
the other from the north.
Together, they built a family
out of love and dust
and work and creative energy.
There was music,
Oh! there was music.
There was laughter,
lots of laughter.
Raucous, earthy, rich with
insight and sometimes tinged
with sarcasm.
Sunday was for church.
Every day was for faith.
Friday night was for popcorn
and giant Hershey’s with almonds
and Bubble-Up,
all of us gathered around the TV
or the puzzle table,
or the game board.
There was never a lot of money,
but that did not matter.
With a dad who knew how to fix things,
a mom who could sew anything,
and a desire to enjoy life,
learn,
grow,
celebrate –
life was a party.
Except when it wasn’t.
There were sad pieces.
A younger brother who struggled,
a family-wide battle with anxiety,
some hard history
going back a generation.
But mostly,
there was solidity,
security,
there was home.
Thank you,
thank you,
thank you!
I love this Diana! It’s really beautiful. What a picture of family.
Never a lot of money…but you were rich!
Amen to that one. The longer I live, the more I appreciate the gift of the home I grew up in.
Amy – your comment did not come through the disqus wall for some reason – but thank you for stopping by and leaving such encouraging words!
I enjoyed this, Diana. The longer I live, the more I appreciate the sacrifices my parents made for us and the home they tried their best to make. Like you, there was just the two of us and my brother was disruptive and difficult. Sunday night was our TV night – popcorn, Disney and Bonanaza.
When I turned 11, there were three of us kids – I wrote about that earlier this week. He was so far behind us that it was like a different family in some ways. He never enjoyed those Friday nights with us – he was too small. I was out of the house to college when I was 17 and he was 6, so…there you have it. My parents were very intentional about trying to undo some of the dysfunction of their own homes and worked very hard at creating something new and healthy. Of course, it wasn’t perfect – they had their own problems, as do we all – but it was good and I am grateful.
“they built a family / out of love and dust” — that, my friend, is poetry.
Well, thank you, Megan. Maybe the key is to have a 5 minute deadline and a prompt. :>) Otherwise, no poetry from me.