Where I'm From

I am from home-delivered milk in glass bottles; from Jungle Juice, Eskimo Pies and the Edmonds Cookbook.

I am from the three bedroom bungalow on the slopes of Mt Hobson, the big goldfish pond in the back lawn, the tree house in the monkey apple tree and the irresistible smell of just-baked bread.

I am from the big grapefruit tree that provided breakfasts when in season; from blue hydrangeas and the much played-in Chinese garden ‘down the back’.

I am from fish and chips with the next door neighbours on Friday nights; from gratefully accepted slender genes; from Hannah, who preferred her middle name and was known as Vi; from Neil, who took my brother and me tramping and ‘protected’ us from Rover; and from Pa, of the bottomless Minties bag.

I am from internalised anger and understated emotion; from the Santa Claus who liked a bottle of beer and a few biscuits before he flew on to the next house, and a mother who would get sent to jail if we didn’t to go to school.

I am from St Aidan’s Anglican Church, where I was christened and sent to Sunday School; from more charismatic experiences, entered into as an adult and pursued for eighteen years before being abandoned in favour of reality.

I'm from New Zealand, Sweden, Denmark, Holland and England; from creamy fish soup with parsley and raw mushroom salad; from cream filled sponge cakes served at Sunday afternoon teas in the house overlooking the Tamaki estuary.

From Nana and Pa who were not next in line to marry and so married secretly until it was their turn and they could safely let the cat out of the bag; the mysterious sibling who preceded me in the womb but miscarried before his/her time, and Poppa who, at the age of eight, drove a herd of cattle through the King Country backblocks, single-handedly.

I am from black and white ancestors, collected between the pages of family albums and viewed through the eye and fascination of a child; from the little 19th century birthday book, passed down through the female line; from the Venetian glass vase filled with Proteas; from snippets of long-past events, relayed via fragile memory; from people, unknown but no less influential for just having been.

Acknowledging Lulu's part in this exercise. To try your own hand, go to: http://www.swva.net/fred1st/wif.htm .

Artist/Leonardo da Vinci