I am from flip-flops, from Cheerios, and mountain lakes.
I am from the suburbs, concrete slab patios, aluminum window frames, the salty smell of a rare rain.
I am from pruned roses, green and manicured lawns in the desert, and crepe paper in the cultural hall, but also from wild buttercups, deep canyons, quaking aspen, and high, cirrus clouds.
I am from Monday night board games and vintage movies, from The Philadelphia Story and The Bells of St. Mary's. From Ragtime Cowboy Joe, Jesus wants me for a Sunbeam, and Let Us All Press On.
From four-part, 4/4 harmony in a major key.
I am from horsey laughter and scripture quotes. I am one of the booper sisters.
I am from Mormons and Hosanna! and handcart reenactments. From 2-year food storage and canning tomatoes and crisp white shirts and a quilted scripture cover.
I'm the adopted one born in Los Angeles, and also from chicken-and-broccoli casserole and ambrosia salad and a dusty antler rack on a cabin wall.
From brilliant sisters and a retreating brother. I'm the Bishop's wild youngest child - the apostate. I'm from walking to the library and cello lessons and Christmas lights shining through sheer curtains.
I am in that photo of 3 girls in a red canoe, taken right before we capsized. That beauty in the cloche and fur collar in that picture at the back is my grandmother, and this one is my grandfather taken right before the Great War. The one with 30 people posing in Sunday clothes? That's my family.
I am from the sound of a fiddle by a fire, from the smell of toasted marshmallows, a river rushing through pine trees, and the creak of a battered wooden chair.
I cannot go online at work. This has changed my online relationships and interactions greatly, particularly blog-wise. At home I choose parenting, but clearly at work I don't always choose work. Unless coerced.
My employer is benefitting, presumably, from their rules. But it doesn't exactly make me like it there.