Whether I'm goofy, irreverent or outright stupid (and if you read the Porch, you know I strive for outright stupid), my words always come from a deeply personal place.
The past year held vast amounts of change and challenges for me. For the most part, I did not want to write and tap into that place -- for fear the proverbial pen would take me to destinations I was not emotionally ready to visit.
Now at long last, I'm ready to try again. Maybe not. We'll see. Or perhaps only I will see, since I'm not sure anyone actually remembers the Porch. If you do, thank you sincerely for reading.
By the way, I have moved from my literal porch, but I carry the spirit of the porch with me wherever I go. I even have a teeny-tiny porch at my new house. As people with small porches say, it is not the size of the porch that counts, but the motion of the rocker that's on it (note to self: get rocker).
If you have followed the Porch, you know I'm barefoot-Julia-Roberts-crazy about Lyle Lovett. In his song, "This Old Porch", he sings words I take very much to heart:
This old porch is just a long time
Of waiting and forgetting
And remembering the coming back
And not crying about the leaving
And remembering the falling down
And the laughter of the curse of luck
From all of those passerby
Who said we'd never get back up.
It feels good to get back up.