The Porch

This is an image (I hate to say photograph anymore. Is there really such a thing as digital photography?) of the north side of the house showing the porch.

The upper window to the right side is in dad's bedroom. This is the western half of the house. The eastern half is 1/2 story, about, lower. The house has 4 levels - a split level home plan - that dad and mom modified.

They used to take all these farming magazines and every one had a house plan or more. So dad and mom would always look at those plans and occasionally they would find one they liked enough to keep. So they'd cut that one out and put in their collection. They wouldn't begin construction until they had the money saved to build it with no debt.

The depression always pervaded (a word for you cornbread) their thinking. Even the war (World War II that is) was of insufficient magnitude to diminish the depression's influence. Over the years Dad ordered 2 house plans. And of those two they finally chose to build this one.

Dad had a large, permanent table built for the porch. Then he and mom had another table surface they put up on some sawhorse supports when they entertained. Dad was president of their Sunday school class and it was the "movers and shakers" of their church. It was called the "Friendship" class. That was so appropriate because a visitor just could not attend that church without one or more of those "Friendship" people welcoming him or her or them. They are nearly all gone now. Besides dad I only know of one lady in Tennessee that remains. She calls on occasion to see how dad is doing. Still "friendship" to the very end.

So when they hosted a "Friendship" class party they would use the porch and every other room for that matter. People would bring food of course. They would gather around mom's cherished Conn organ and she would play and all would sing (well, most all - not dad though). Dad bought the Conn for mom just after the house was finished. For the time it was such a luxurious extravagance. It still works, too, even with all those vacuum tubes. My wife used to play it for dad and he would sit and listen for longer than she could endure.

Mom's father was a preacher (he had a mail order seminary education) and a carpenter. He would move to a town and physically build a church building. He pastored the church until a new pastor could be called and take over and then he would move on to another town and do the same thing. He played the trombone. Mom and her sisters sang in a quartet at first and then a trio. This was during the depression and they were desperately poor. They had only what the congregation could give them for food and shelter and clothing. And almost no one had anything.

My grandmother supplemented the family income by making candy and selling it. She made some of the best candy I've ever tasted. She had this one candy called "Aunt Bill's" that was my favorite.

It is Saturday morning. Friday is my longest weekly respite. Usually I get 18 hours. An aide is on from half past noon to 8:30 pm and then my brother takes over. Last night dad wouldn't let anyone help him. He sat on the porch and refused to budge until well after dark. He didn't eat his ice cream or drink his juice. But now I've gotten him changed finally and he is happily (I think) snoozing away in his recliner. I can see out the window of his bedroom if I stand up. I'm here beside him. He won't get in his bed.

We, my wife and I, had a great time yesterday. We went to Mimi's Cafe and had a wonderful lunch and ran some errands and watched a little TV. I love my Fridays.