Tuesday, January 5, 2021

“I am From” by Randi Evans

I am from holes chopped in thick ice on northern lakes

From daffodils bravely peeking up through melting snow

From 2:00 a.m. tornado sirens, sending us dashing to the basement

From golden carpets ever-thickening as leaves drift from chilly oaks

I am from Princes and Presidents walking on sterile streets in my small Midwestern town

Above exclusive shops lining tunnels which connect the Mayo Clinic to hospital to hotel

I am from the civic center where Meadowlark Lemon amazed us

Where floor lights saved us from the piano bench Jerry Lee Lewis flung across the stage

Where the price tag eternally dangled from Minnie Pearl’s hat

I am from peeling paint on rented doors and rattling rebuilt bikes, as I longed for dance lessons, figure-skating lessons, life lessons

I am from wagging tails, sticks and tricks and lapping tongues

Those aloof hairball neighbours dare not set paw on our sparse grass

I am from ironed pillowcases, vacuumed ceilings and the scent of freshly waxed floors

I am from chocolate cake with fudge frosting

Fresh-caught walleye browning in the pan

Velveeta cheese melted in Campbells tomato soup

Grilled peanut butter sandwiches dunked in hot chocolate

No wonder I’m also from the chub deb fashion department

I am from wriggling worms, tangled lines and sitting quietly in a wooden boat

I am from pogo stick contests, misplaced roller skate keys and jumping the wake on a slalom ski

I am from the mellow of Doris Day, the soul of Fats Domino and the flower power of the Mammas and Pappas

I am from Little Women, Tale of Two Cities and Grapes of Wrath

I am long from Ireland, England, Wales and Normandy

I am lately from the Minnesota sock hop

The California coming of age

The Chicago bar scene with peanut shells landing in my beer

I am from hidden feelings, eyes rolling at Dad’s jokes told yet again, and wishing that my sister weren’t quite so perfect

I see stoic families dressed in black, proud hunters with fallen deer, ancestral babies with my children’s eyes, preserved on photo paper and carefully framed, granting me a window through which I view the landscape that I am from


Randi Evans enjoys travelling, gardening, classroom volunteering and being a grandma. She has always enjoyed writing, but found little time to do more than edit the company newsletter and write the occasional article. In retirement, Randi has written a few stories for her young grandchildren and is now experimenting with other genres, starting with memoirs. Randi lives in St. Catharines, Ontario with her husband, Bill. 

See Brian Henry’s schedule hereincluding online and in-person writing workshops, weekly writing classes, and weekend retreats in Algonquin Park, Alliston, Bolton, Barrie, Brampton, Burlington, Caledon, Collingwood, Georgetown, Georgina, Guelph, Hamilton, Jackson’s Point, Kingston, Kitchener-Waterloo, London, Midland, Mississauga, Oakville, Ottawa, Peterborough, St. Catharines, Southampton, Sudbury, Toronto, Windsor, Woodstock, Halton, Muskoka, Peel, Simcoe, York Region, the GTA, Ontario and beyond.

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