Daily Archives: August 19, 2012

Front Porch Respect

It’s Sunday afternoon.   And here I sit, on my front porch, doing not a single thing.

Ah.  I guess I’m doing something.  I’m listening to the guys on the roof across the street.  They’re working in a toasty sun.  Replacing a roof damaged by one of the summer storms that stomped through earlier this summer.   And I’m thinking of all of the work I should be doing to my house.  There’s always so much to do, isn’t there?  But there’s something wonderful about having these fella’s atop a roof, chatting endlessly, often with colorful words that don’t bother me.  And I can’t help but chuckle and wonder if they realize anyone in the neighborhood can hear them.  They’re talking loud enough for me to understand, yet just the sound of their work on this beautiful day is easily pushed to the background.  Like music you play for comfort but really don’t pay attention to.

I’m watching people go by on their bikes, or jogging, or strolling down the path.   Wondering why on earth I am not out there riding or jogging myself.   That was our plan last night.  Get up and go on a long bike ride.

 

 

 

 

 

I’m looking at my little red bird dude I bought thinking the kids would really like it.   But enjoying that the neighbor seems to love it more.  I bought him to make him look like he is flying over my hostas.  But my neighbor keeps turning him, when I’m not around,  so he’s looking back at who ever is on the porch.

I’m enjoying the new surface of my porch and wishing I had had this color put in my basement.  I feel very luxurious on my front porch with my fancy floor and the popping red mats at our feet.

I’m drinking a cup of fresh brewed rooibos tea.  Knowing tomorrow I won’t have the ease of time to heat the water, properly steeping the tea and enjoy the comfort of tea on my porch in my special made mug.

I stare at the WWII veteran’s car.  It sits.  Without moving.   He’s no longer able, or allowed, to drive.   But his family once told us it gives him comfort to have it there.  The back tire is flat, the others are mushy.   I think there would be an outpouring of support if anyone tried to make him move it.  It gives me comfort, knowing it gives him comfort.

I wonder about the house, two doors down, where the preacher now lives alone.  His wife of sixty plus years gone to her eternal rest just last week.  His family comes and goes, as does he.  Tomorrow he may not cross my mind in the bustle of the busy day.

I sit here and think about the people I should see, or the people who should come and see me.   Filling this ’empty’ day with more busy-ness and going to and fro.  I know tomorrow I won’t have the time to go anywhere or see anyone other than what I must do and who I must see.  There won’t be time for who I want to see.

Tomorrow we go back to work.   We’ll be sitting in our office, our classroom, our car.  We’ll be talking on the phone.  We’ll be getting told what to do.   We’ll be telling others what to do.  I won’t have dilemmas on what I should do, I won’t have options on what I want to do.  Tomorrow is about what I have to do.  Today is about having options, and that includes doing nothing.  Or, very precious little.

Tomorrow I won’t get to sit here in the afternoon and give myself permission to be lazy.  Or contemplative.   Reflective.

Tomorrow I won’t get to sit on my front porch and think about all of the things I could do.   Tomorrow I’ll likely have a moment or two where I wish I was spending time sitting on my front porch.  With nothing I have to do.  But thoughts of what I might do.

Or not.

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