I loved listening to my grandmother Sears’ stories and I imagine that if she were asked, “Where are you from?” she would say:
I am from black swim boots meant for wading not swimming
And itchy wool bathing dresses with hair tucked under mob caps.
I am from Entenmanns’s Danishes instead of dinner and
Gold therapy treatments in tiny, dark duplexes.
I am from riding trolleys to stenography school and
Clam chowder served in rooms adorned with Salt cellars, chiming clocks and Sandwich cup plates.
I am from co-ed baseball and games of Pinochle, Cribbage and Whist;
Repurposing eyeglass lenses into hand painted jewelry;
Post cards, letters and occasional telegrams.
I am from learning to drive a car before women could vote.