Poetry, Uncategorized

Where I am From….

Me, at age 15. My brother took the photo, and we developed  it in his home darkroom. 











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Sometimes it’s fun to write a poem based on a pattern some otherpoet used. This one is based on George Ella Lyon. She is a wonderful poet. Hereis my version.
Where I am From…
I am from the red house, near tothe corner of Clinton and Third.
I am from two parents who lovedeach other and their children.
I am from the “farm” wheresummers shaped my feelings about land, open spaces, and New England.
I am from the Dutch grandparentswho cooked and baked sweet Dutch treats each Sunday.
I am from those Americans whocannot gaze upon Lady Liberty with dry eyes.
I am from the home with cats,laughter, and many, many books.
I am from times of struggle,little money, few nice things.
I am from the father who stood atour front door refusing to sign a petition to keep a Black family from buyingthe house next door, telling them to their face that they were wrong. “anybodycan buy a house if they can afford it,” he told the man.
I am from the river, the brook,the bay, the sunrise on the Penobscot, the loon on the lake, thunderous waveson sharp rocks.
Now, I am the mosaic of my past,one rich in places, the treasures of my travels, the friendship ties to faraway shores.
All these, and especially thememories, keep my heart warm.
 
w.c. kasten, copyright 2009, all rights reserved.
Uncategorized

Attic City

Residents of Attic City

Attic City

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The house Tom and I grew up in was tall and narrow, with two regular floors and then a basement and an attic. Our bedrooms were small so the attic became our place to play as younger kids. Mom put a linoleum rug on the floor to keep us from getting splinters in our feet, hands, and knees from the wooden planks of the floor.  The red flowered linoleum became Attic City.

Between the two of us, we had quite a few dolls and stuffed animals. Dolls, all girl dolls, were then married off to various stuffed animals who we made all boys.  Bookshelves with the books removed were apartments for couples. We had a sort of real-sized wooden dog house that had been made in Dad’s shop at school, and this became the home of the mayor of Attic City. The mayor, named Happy, was a stuffed beagle toy with open and close eyes, and a toy Tom really liked.  A small child sized table became a home for my entire family of Ginny Dolls (before Barbie was invented).  I had sisters Mary and Muffy, three teen dolls named Sharon and Jill and Marian, and a baby doll named Ginette. They all had real wooden beds, with pillows and blankets. Marian was the Mom of this little family. Jill was nice. Sharon was always getting in trouble.

On rainy days, we played Attic City. We would make up stories for the characters in the town. Tom always wanted there to be a robbery or a murder. I never wanted anything bad to happen. I preferred stories with weddings, or going to school, or playing games.

On the other side of the attic, Tom had his Lionel Trains set up. Two big tables in the shape on an L, one table being the city with little houses and trees, and the other table being the country with barns, cows, and fences. The best part, in my opinion, was the train whistles. Tom had two. Sometimes we would blare both of them.

We played Attic City for years. Our last game, we had made our town its biggest yet. We thought Attic City needed lights, so we got into the boxes of Christmas ornaments. Tom strung 6 strands of lights back and forth across the attic ceiling, then did something to make them all blink, and then added the blaring train whistles.

Right about this time, probably responding to the noise, Mom came up the stairs.  She was not pleased. She made us take down the lights, put them away, and clean up Attic city.  That was the end of it. But then Tom was getting too old to play with a little sister anyhow. Tom still has Happy, the mayor of Attic City on a bookshelf in his home.  I visit both of them at his house each year.

This is Mary (left) and Muffy (right) from Attic City.  They are over 60 years old now, so Muffy’s eyes seem to be rusted shut.  My mother made both of the dresses they are wearing.

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Residents of Attic City