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I am from the thread that weaves a good story,

the kind that never lets the truth get in the way.

I am from Grampa’s hands,

calloused and bruised from chopping wood and gutting fish.

From and Gramma’s apron,

worn thin from decades of washing in the lake

and drying in the sun.

I am from pine tar covered feet

and sun-kissed shoulders.

From Baby Oil, Lemon Up, and Ivory soap.

I am from water so clear it could wash away your sins,

Or make you feel like

sins committed in this sacred place don’t count.

I am from a pack of cousins, a gaggle of grandparents,

and a swarm of friends.

From the big one that got away,

and the fireflies, like sentries, that light our way.

I am from Richie Rich and Little Lotta.

From laughing so hard into your pillow

that the tent shakes and wakes up Uncle Bob.

I am from hikes to Old Baldy

And hours spent by the brick circle fire pit,

where generations gather and share

boxed wine with ice and family fables.

I am from big mistakes and little consequences-

a happy outcome of a simpler time.

I am from six packs and skinny-dipping

and stealing Gramma’s car.

From mischief at night to breakfast every morning

With a Charlie McCarthy “man” spoon.

I am from first love, lost love, binding love

and love that continues to grow.

I am from loss and tears,

but always from faith in the crystal clear tricolored water

that soothes both my soul and my sunburn.

I am part of something so much bigger than myself.

I am just one thread that is woven with the colorful threads of sisters, cousins, parents, grandparents and friends

to create the fabric that envelops my life.

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