And there are more boxes, in the hall, and in MM's play room, and in the kitchen. And we're not done packing (though it's really only the bathroom cabinets that are left. And my desk. And a few things in a closet. And the stuff we're wearing and eating. And three place-settings, two pots, and a pan. And the coffee machine. And this lap-top I'm typing on. Dear God, just how did we accumulate so much stuff?
[Me, age 7 or 8, reading on the ugly flowered couch. The book is More-All-Of-A-Kind-Family. The skirt is denim with tiny embroidered flowers. The window is looking out onto Fischer Bay in Truro, Massachusetts.]
I am from ugly flowered curtains, from Goldfish Crackers and tuna sandwiches and lemonade for lunch on the beach .
I am from the house across the street from the school I never went to, with the mulberry tree, and the ivy, and the stepping stones around the gas-lamp that still shines in my memory.
I am from the phlox, and the apple tree, and the roly-poly bugs under the bricks
I am from all the children playing Elijah, and from flat feet, from Jenny, and Mom, and Dad, and David, and Roz.
I am from the people who talk openly about illness and loudly about politics.
From Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy.
I am from Jewish Atheists who celebrate Passover and Hanukah and Christmas and who were fine sending me to a Quaker camp
I'm from Brooklyn and all over Eastern Europe, from chopped liver and potato latkes and steamed lobster in the Summer.
From the friendship of Bubbe Hoffy and Bubbe Yetta, and how Bubbe Yetta never knew Bubbe Hoffe wasn't Jewish. From my father's lifelong friends from Camp Kinderland. From blended families, and thirty cousins.
I am from rolodexes of photos on my mother's coffee table that my son and I look through everytime we visit.