Growing up, we spent weekends with one Grandparent or another. It was always a good time. At one there were always cousins and dogs, at the other there was marching around the room at the end of Bozo's Circus or swimming in the pool. At Grandma and Grandpa's house, there was always a period of time spent sitting on the porch. Grandpa's rocking chair was in direct line from the porch door to the front door. Sometimes he had a little tv out there listening to a ball game. Grandma liked to swing on the porch swing, but after a time it would make me nauseous, so I would sit on the wicker with the dogs. I would try to get Grandma to tell me stories. After a while, she would run out. Aunt Nell lived down the street and often would come up. At one time, no longer now, it was a nice neighborhood, where people walked, stood on the stoop to visit, and were generally neighborly.
I now have a huge deck and lower cement patio. My father loves to come sit out on my deck and watch nature. We've seen deer, hawks, hummingbirds, swallows, and of course witnessed the death of many a ground hog to Gus the killer dog. For some reason, this does not sit well with me. I'm more comfortable out front, watching the world go by. Waving to the honking horn because I'm sure I know who it is (even though I don't recognize the car). I live rurally so that aren't many that walk, but once in a one comes by. I offer a glass of water and small talk. Some day, I'm going to have my screened in porch, like my Grandparents, I'm going to have my radio playing, a basket of scraps or sewing by my side, my puppies at my feet, and welcome the neighbors, whether they be young or old, 2 or 4 legged, and remember my days at Turlington Ave.