Hello to my new readers and a warm welcome to my front porch where there’s always an extra chair for company and a cool glass of homemade lemonade; not the kind with extra sugar mind you, but with plenty of extra lemons. All that sugar isn’t good for you, they tell me. Sometimes the porch fills up and the conversation turns a bit gossipy, but always with the best of intentions, of course.
This time of year, my porch is almost hidden by the mock orange bush that covers one whole side and its top branches reach all the way up to the gutters. Many a Tennessee winter has tried to tame this bush down to a manageable size but it continues to outsmart ice storms, sleet, and snow, bowing to the ground and snapping a branch here and there, rising and budding triumphantly each spring and attracting every bee in the tri-state area with its fragrant blooms.
On the other side, a hibiscus juts above the porch railing, ‘banisters’ here in the South, never knowing for sure if it’s supposed to be pink or blue, and in the end deciding to be both, opening up pinkish clusters tinged with bluish edges, some years with more blue than pink and as big around as my best dishes. Each spring, my porch guests offer educated guesses about which color it will be. Keep in mind these are the same educated people who dangle a spoon on a string in front of a pregnant woman and can tell from that if she’s carrying a boy or a girl! A man at the nursery once explained to me that I could make up my hibiscus’ mind for it simply by adding some chemicals to the soil, but I couldn’t see doing such a thing. Though I try to flow with the changing times, I’ve got an old fashioned streak and I recognize my grandmother’s genes and traits embedded deep in my very soul more and more each year. I enjoy the ‘old’ ways, guessing games and surprise endings, whether it’s hibiscus blossoms or babies. I still can’t figure out the spoon thing, but have to admit that Aunt Mildred’s got a pretty good accuracy rate.
I’ve been blessed with three children but, so far, only one grandchild, Amy, and probably will tell you more about her than you care to know. To let readers know what they’re in for, Amy is almost six and starts first grade this fall in Texas. That child’s just about the prettiest ever, with long, dark brown waves down to her waist and huge big dark brown eyes. Does anyone remember back in the 60’s, that series of paintings of the children with the huge black eyes like deep, dark pools? Well, my little Amy reminds me of one of those pictures. She’s also the cleverest kid that’s ever been in this family and talented too. She took the Art Award in kindergarten last year hands down, but I’m told I’ve about worn that one out.
You’ll come to know the rest of my family, some we brag about and some we don’t. There’s maybe two or three that when we hear their names mentioned, we raise an eyebrow and look at each other knowingly, nobody saying a word, the ‘look’ being enough. And if Aunt Mildred’s around, she merely shakes her head and says “Lawsy, lawsy”.
I hope we become close friends and that you’ll visit my front porch by dropping me a line now and then. I might even share my second cousin Madge’s recipe for peanut butter fudge…’course, not till the weather turns cooler.
Forgive me… I almost forgot my manners. If you don’t have a taste for lemonade, there’s always a jug of tea in the fridge. No southern refrigerator would be caught without one.

… read the rest of the story by Subscribing now.

... read the rest of the story by Subscribing now.