I walked to the library early this evening to return some books and ended up checking out the new Joyce Carol Oates novel, Little Bird of Heaven. The purpose of my outing was simply to get a little exercise and return my books. But as I walked back home, I passed my daughter's house and her porch beckoned me to come sit and read a while. No one was home, but the house was unlocked -- this is Mayberry, remember -- so I went in, poured a glass of wine, took my new book to the front porch and inhaled the evening. I don't know how I got any reading done for the people watching I did: lovers strolled by on a date -- I could tell by the wallet on a chain that she carried and swung; a married couple out for a walk eating their ice cream cones; people walking dogs, families with skipping children, a developmentally challenged adult with the kindest companion to help walk the dog. The birds sang, the grass whispered. It was so peaceful, I couldn't think of anyplace I'd rather be.
Sarah's house is on a lopsided corner, one that isn't a 90-degree intersection, so people tend to cross at angles and meander more. It's a great location for that very reason. So many of the houses here have large front porches. In fact, DreamWorks recently knocked on Sarah's door inquiring if she would consider letting them use the house with its inviting porch for a movie in the works. There have been several walk-throughs of the site location team, but no decision yet. Several houses are being considered.
My sister, who had the best porch ever in Tulsa, used to refer to her time there as "front porch therapy." Not her therapy, but her as the therapist. Neighbors seemed to come out of nowhere and poured out their souls. Recently, fellow blogger, Cindy, wrote about her own porch.
I miss not having a porch, but as long as I have a porch of movie proportion about a mile away, who's to complain?