Shootin' the Breeze

We've been doing a whole lotta front-porch-sittin' this week. Grandaddy Norton is with us for several days while Ken's sister takes a much-needed vacation. Ken is shuttling him back and forth so that he can sleep in his own bed at night. Funny, how old age really does reverse the process...often, our parents eventually become our children, and then they become the infants. Sometimes we get lucky and die with our boots on, but maybe not as often as the alternative. I'm guessing that all of it is has something to do with sanctification. The temptation is to get crabby, and it takes a lot of resolute courage not to cave to our lowest common denominators. 

Thankfully, there are porches. We've had them on most of our houses. Long ago, all we had was a little stoop facing the street, maybe a 4x4 spit of concrete. We only had one baby at the time, and I'd sit there and watch him happily play in the little front yard. Wherever we've lived, the bit of porch had an important role. There's fresh air and free entertainment, even if there's no traffic. When we eventually built a house, way out in the country, we made sure the porch wrapped around the house. My morning coffee was had in our swing there, contemplating the deeper things of life and watching the wildlife while I read my Bible. The front of the house faced west, so the setting sun cooked everything to a crisp. We'd head for the back deck as the evening waned. Then we moved to our old Victorian gal in downtown Villa Rica. Right off the bat, it was obvious that folks knew how to build a porch back then. The house is oriented East-to-West, so the breeze runs straight across. When the sun sets, it doesn't scald you. We eventually installed ceiling fans, a curtain on the west side for really hot days, and party lights to get everyone in the mood. There are three different fountains bubbling, enticing folks to sit and breathe for a minute. Once you sit down, it might just be difficult to get back up. With our particular spot in town, there's always some sort of drama walking or driving by. This week, Georgia Power is sadly taking down numerous trees across the street, so we've been watching the circus. It has been slow-going and scary, with people taking their lives into their own hands. There was even a fuss yesterday between two of the workers. I guess things get a little tense, when life is on the line. 

Ken's Daddy has been entertained by all this, but we're also making the rounds with our children and grandchildren. Yesterday we had dinner with our "stoop baby" who is now 6'5" and has a wife and four babies of his own. Then there was a soccer game for the 5-year-old twins. Grandaddy laughed as he tipped backwards in his lawn chair and spilled onto the ground when Bennett came in for a big hug. I'm glad he's still got his sense of humor. We will be distracting him all week, with hopefully no broken bones. 

If you are sad or depressed, lonely or tense, find you a porch (or just a stoop) somewhere. Bring a cool drink and a friend. A dog or cat always helps, too.   

Anchors Aweigh

We spent the last week with family at our annual beach vacation, with a house of loud folks, from infants up to old people. When our children were young and behaving like so many dolphins, I spent our beach days in the water with them. As seasons waxed and waned, eventually there came that time when they married and began to have their own young ones. The labor of beach visits became tougher, hauling loads of equipment onto the sandy shore, just to make some semblance of comfort under the hot summer sun. I am eternally grateful for our annual trek -- it's one of the highlights of our year. We lay around, eat, nap, swim, enjoy grandchildren, and have evenings of hilarity after all the kids are in bed. We were missing one of our sons and his family this year, but still had ten of our twelve grandchildren along with their parents. It was loud, grungy, exhausting at times, but always blessed. One of the sweetest things is that now a lot of the grands are big enough to join me in the water; our boisterous flotilla was epic, running off timid folks around us I am sure. Papa was all the rage this year, with his dry, funny wit and physicality with them. He's not a water bug, but he's definitely a landshark. The grandkids think he's the bomb.com. He's a bit like Brutus, or maybe a bull in a china shop. I learned early on that it did no good to try to wrestle with him. You simply can't win. Instantaneous slam dunks are the order of the day; his thickly muscled arms and back are shored up with intense tenaciousness. Our four beautiful and handsome spawn have inherited these bulldog traits, thank God. Somebody's gotta help this next generation and I think they're it. 

As we arrived home, toasted brown and misty-eyed about having to leave the beach and our people, I noticed I was itching. Like, all over. I had felt icky for a couple of days but just figured I was getting tired from being in the water all day with rambunctious small people. Turns out that chicken pox stays with you all of your life, and I now have a bad case of shingles. While I'm here whining and whimpering, I've had time to observe and think about my dearest. Yes, he's a little (well, maybe more than that) OCD, bossy, opinionated and set in his ways. Think of the creature in Beauty & the Beast, with less hair. We're as opposite as two people can get (he is ISTJ and I'm ENFP, for those who follow that sort of thing), so there's always been plenty of conflict. With 41-plus years under our belts, I've had to grow some skin and he's had to shed some of his. But even with his bravado, there's a tender heart beating under all that muscle. The brawny bull snorts, paws the ground and then tenderly rubs ointment on my blisters, brings me food and drink, runs to Dunkin Donuts for my favorite coffee. He holds me in the night, when my emotions run over and I weep in pain. Irritatingly, he tells me what I should and shouldn't do, then we're off to the races again. 

The movies and the books say that love is violins and roses...if at first you don't find your soulmate, keep searching until you find him (or her) even if it means discarding the one who gets ugly, fat or disappointing in front of you. Truth is, life is never perfect - any time you get two warty humans together, you're eventually going to get disillusioned, tired or just bored. Love is a choice, where the ocean of it ebbs and flows. Storms, tsunamis and seaweed come alongside the gorgeous sunsets and beach-glass waters. Sometimes there are long seasons of difficulty interspersed with churned-up grit and slime, with the raft getting pulled into the maelstrom.

I don't believe there are any simple answers to this long game, except that in every high and stormy gale, my anchor holds within the veil. And it ain't me that's the anchor.  

The Rewards of Our Labors

Labor Day doesn't get a whole lot of respect. It's thrown in there at the end of summer, sort of a little vacation bump in between July 4 and Thanksgiving. The kids love it because they were thinking that summer was over. When I was a child, we had school vacation the proper way -- we got out right after Memorial Day and whiled away those slow, heat-blanketed days until Labor Day. It was wonderful. Then when September came, we were chomping at the bit to get back to school. New, crisp clothes from the Sears catalog and the promise of Friday night football games hung in the air. I felt it again the other evening, when I heard the drumbeat from the high school marching band float over to our yummy front porch. There is a Fall coming, I just know it. 

Ken and I have had several weeks of extra work -- he at the plant and me with events. We're tired. I hadn't straightened my house or cleaned it good in quite the stretch, but we really wanted to hang out with our kids for Labor Day this year. Miraculously, we got the house presentable enough that, hopefully, no one would get listeria or other bacterial infections. All of the children, grandchildren, Grandma Judy and then a family from our church piled in. Everyone brought meat and side dishes. I forgot the plates, so Ken ran to the store last-minute to pick up paper goods. He walked in with "Chinet" brand. I have been married for 41-1/2 years and have never bought fancy paper plates. We've suffered through those really flimsy ones, where you have to stack 3 or 4 of them or you risk them collapsing. Then there's the foam ones, who appear sturdy until the spaghetti slides right off. Or you pierce your watermelon and stick a fork right through it. And there's no abiding trying to cut a steak on a paper plate. I said, "I can't believe you bought those! They cost a fortune!" Ken said, "I'm over it. I'm tired of terrible paper plates so I bit the bullet and got them. And two sizes, one for the kids and one for the adults." What is happening in my house? 

After we ate, everyone wound up in the backyard around the firepit, then dozens of kids piled on the groaning trampoline. That thing's going to split in half soon. The mosquitos began to invade, insecticide was passed around despite our fears of the dangers of deet. As the sun went down, the earth cooled around us, and we relaxed and laughed about anything and nothing at all. We drifted back into the house, where the pieces of the evening and the evidences of life lived made themselves known. I'm always amazed at the transformation of clean to dirty, then back to clean again, in very short order after a gathering. Babies began to yawn and long for home, Daddies and Mamas anticipated tomorrow's labors. We hugged and said goodbyes as vehicles pulled out. Ken and I dashed the finishing touches on the kitchen and then plopped onto the couch. 

He reached over and took my hand and said, "It has been a good day." And it really was...