Memories

Memories. They can be good, bad, or just there. You know the kind I am speaking about. Mama and Daddy helped make soothing memories for me. Daddy built us a new house on Route 4, Elba. I was still in high school. We were so proud of our new house. I remember how he laid out the size of the house with strings to begin and I watched it develop through every step along the way. He made a nice big front porch on a concrete slab. He poured two nice concrete steps to get onto the porch. Mama immediately wanted a porch set and she soon bought one. Green and white, it was made of metal. One chair bounced, the long piece glided, and then there was the rocker. Wasp or dirt dobbers liked to make their nests, if that's what you call them, underneath the glider. Daddy's favorite chair was the rocker. Daddy chewed tobacco while he read the paper every day. He pulled the rocker up to the edge of the porch where he could rock, read, and spit off the edge of the porch. Mama had a potato vine growing on the decorative iron post right where Daddy liked to sit and spit. I guess tobacco juice never did any damage to the beautiful vine or we never saw any evidence of it at all. Mama never complained. She'd sit on the glider on one end of the porch while daddy sat and read parts of the paper to her. That old porch set has lasted through the years. It still glides, rocks and bounces just like always. Only thing is it has a new coat of paint solid white in color and sets on our front porch now. Somehow every time I sit down on one of those chairs, memories flood my soul. Good memories of when we sat on the porch listening to daddy share parts of the paper while he rocked and chewed his tobacco, and yes, spitting off the side of the porch. (Originally posted on FB 9/7/2018)