Well, I'm home from rendering my dogsitting services. It was quite the experience, let me just tell you. Their dog, Allie, is a rescue beagle and she has some emotional baggage that doesn't make boarding an ideal solution for her. And anyone, who's ever loved a dog, knows that you can't really enjoy a trip if you know your pup is unhappy, so that's how I came into the picture. If anyone is well-versed in caring for emotionally needy dogs, it would be me. After all, I was Sugar's Mama for fourteen years and have always had a soft spot for the shy and nervous type.
My sweet friend, Regena, came along with me for the experience. Regena is one of those friends, who adds fun to whatever you're doing and, since she retired from Mississippi State, she's always up for a road trip. I promised a long and laid back weekend with a kind of sleep/eat theme to it, so she packed her bags without too many questions.

Between our restaurant visits, a little shopping, and catching a movie, it was on our to-do list to take the dogs for two daily walks. One in the morning and one at night. And I use the plural form of dog, because Blair and John Samuel thought that bringing Ruby would be a good distraction for Allie in her state of separation anxiety. And Ruby is kind of like Regena in that she also adds a level of fun to whatever you're doing. Well, sometimes, it might be a stretch to call it fun, but that's neither here nor there.

Anyway, each morning, well before my usual wake time, the dogs would get up ready to eat. Ruby's morning feeding is usually found on Davis' chore list, so I was missing him badly at that ghastly hour. And not long after they were done with breakfast, they were raring to go walking and would indicate this with intense barking and howling. To avoid waking Regena, I tried to get them out the door as soon as possible even though my blood wasn't quite yet pumping effectively. This seems as good a place as any to mention that Regena's little, short legs/bone spur combo was not conducive to helping me walk the hounds. We tried it once and, let's just say, it didn't go well.

Well, Ruby was like the country mouse, who'd come to town. She's not accustomed to walking on a leash or having restrictions placed on where she can and cannot conduct her personal business, so I knew walking the country mouse on her retractable leash and the city mouse on her regular leash would be an experience. Once I finally got them both on their restraining devices, I opened the front door. It was like the starting gate at the dog track as they took off at warp speed toward the big oak tree across the street to chase a squirrel. I believe I was airborne for approximately 25 yards. My feet finally made contact with the ground when Ruby, the country cousin, went around the light pole on the opposite side from Allie and me. Leashes twisting and pulling and locking up. Now, I am not one to say bad words, especially audibly.....well, unless it involves a funny bone or toe stubbing, but, as I worked to get everyone on the same side of the pole, I may or may not have used some words that are found on the list of words my mother taught me never to say. Surely, there are exceptions, though. Like when you're a night owl and it's 6:45 am and you have two barking dogs in pursuit of a squirrel, who are tied in a square knot around a pole. After much ado, we finally made it to the oak tree and everyone enjoyed smelling it and looking up into it for potential prey. With the tree well inspected, they seemed to slow their gait down a tad as we continued on our trek.
It was a lovely Saturday morning. It wasn't too hot yet and the dogs were enjoying themselves. The neighborhood was a flurry of activity even at the early hour. There were people jogging. Kids riding bikes. Golf carts buzzing. The soccer fields were filling up with uniformed kids. Apparently, these people needed someone to teach them how to relax on Saturday mornings, but I was only out there because I had no choice in the matter. The hounds were restless.
Well, we'd finally gotten leveled out on our walk. With a couple of days under our belts, the country mouse seemed to be getting the hang of this leash co-walking thing for the most part. That is, until we turned the corner and met a little girl walking her large chocolate lab and black kitty cat. "Oh, this is not good," I remember saying to myself. I believe that, perhaps, it was the last thing I remember as Ruby took off after the kitty. That's what dogs do where we live and so Ruby was unconcerned with the social norms of the city. Well, Ruby stretches out her retractable leash going after the black cat with Allie close behind. Their barking and running causes the large brown lab to snarl and growl and take off after the two hounds. The little girl runs behind him after her cat, who's now in the storm drain, and, in the process, she lets go of her big dog's leash. I'm being dragged by the hounds behind the little girl. And bringing up the rear of this circus train were the little girl's parents, who'd spotted the whole ugly incident from their front porch and were running after us all. The parents, the dogsitter, the little girl, the chocolate lab, the hound dogs, and the kitty cat. That's when Ruby and Allie, astoundingly, performed a slip knot around a stop sign and I was forced to release of one of the leashes. I knew if Allie got lost on my watch, I might as well go drown myself in the storm drain, so I let go of Ruby, who was wide open and finally enjoying the freedom to which she was so accustomed. It was like "The Farmer in the Dell" gone horribly wrong. The only thing we were missing was the cheese.

For five days, we tried to perfect the walking thing. I know their neighbors were wondering, "Who on earth is that strange lady, who comes launching off of their front porch like a rocket ship, everyday, pulled by those rabid sled dogs?".....or the Hounds of Baskervilles as my well-read Regena had them named by day two. So, while the happily married couple of two years was off doing stuff like this...
After a delayed flight, the parents finally made it home to their fur baby, on Monday night, and all was right with the world, once again.
Since getting home, it's been a game of catch up at work and home and, most importantly, sleep, but thanking God for safe travels and the precious gift of their sweet marriage of almost two years.

Y'all have a great end to the week!

          

Well, my friend, Julie, and I enrolled in a short stained glass class at our local community college. I think we'll meet a total of six nights and complete a project, while learning the basics of the art. Now, I don't know the least little thing about stained glass, but I have always appreciated its beauty. Especially, on Sunday mornings. And I thought it might be just a notch or two more sophisticated sounding than my paint by number hobby, so I talked Julie into coming with me. She's very artsy and this is just the kind of thing we can do now with our nests being empty.

Last week, we just went over our supply list and picked out the patterns we wanted to use. The instructor, BJ, is a friend of mine and she suggested not doing anything too detailed for our first attempt. I took that to mean that the transfiguration of Jesus or His triumphal entry into Jerusalem would be off the table. So, I looked over all the simpler patterns provided and selected a cross. Not too ornate or curlicued or anything. Just straight lines and clean edges as I'm always drawn to the angular as opposed to curves and arches. I'm not sure what that would indicate on a personality test.
Anyway, I'd gone to the glass store, last week, and plopped down in the floor to choose the different colors for my cross. Because it wasn't a large project, I was able to go through the scrap piles to find what I needed. After finding a lot of the required tools on Amazon, I was ready to take my first step into the brilliant world of stained glassdom.

Last night, we actually got to start cutting our patterns and, once BJ got me started, I was off to the races. Trace. Score. Tap. Break. Trace. Score. Tap. Break. With only straight lines in my pattern, I was able to cut my pieces out pretty fast. Of course, they're not perfect, you understand. They'll need a lot of grinding to get them right, but they're cut out, at least. I'm one of those kind of impatient people, who likes to get things done. You might even say I can be impetuous, at times. But, the good thing about stained glass, which I've already learned, is that you have the grinder and solder to cover your shortcomings. I am partial to hobbies that provide multiple layers of coverage for my ineptness.
Meanwhile, my friend, Julie, is next to me working on something that looks like she's been commissioned by Sainte-Chapelle. She selected a large, ornate pattern that will be just beautiful, but with so many turns and twists and curves. I'm over there- Trace. Score. Tap. Break. Like nobody's business. And she's sitting in deep contemplation, trying to decide which way she wants the design in her glass to run; nowhere near ready to commit to much cutting. She's a school teacher and artistically inclined and, whatever she does, well, it's done to perfection.
I estimate Julie will be done with her breathtaking stained glass project sometime around Memorial Day after next, but it will be a show piece when she's finally finished and likely will merit a special place in her new house plans. Mine is liable to be finished in two or three weeks and will prop in my kitchen window, subject to forever being mistaken for a Vacation Bible School project. 
Next week, I learn about the grinder and wrapping the glass pieces in copper, while Julie embarks on her tracing. I'll keep you posted on further developments on this riveting story.

This evening, we plan to welcome my niece's first baby, Noah, and, on Thursday, I'm going to dogsit the granddog, while Blair and John Samuel celebrate their second anniversary in NYC, so there's a lot going on, this week. Since we last talked, I was involved in a fender bender, almost died twice of heat-related illness for the cause of college football, and discovered that our Ruby can open the door to our neighbors' house and, without so much as knocking first, let's herself in to unwind out of the heat and catch up on their latest news.

Obviously, I have a lot to address when I get home.

We'll talk, next week.

 

Front porches have traditionally been the social center of the southern home. Well, porches and kitchens. But, back before air conditioning, I understand, the porch is where you'd go to visit and hopefully catch a breeze for a little relief from the heat. Neighbors would stop by and talk and rock for a spell. That certainly seemed to be how it was in everyone's favorite TV town, Mayberry. Andy, Opie, and Aunt Bea would sit out there after dinner and, invariably, someone would stop by for a visit.
I have my own memories of a front porch. My maternal grandparents had a big one. They had porches on the front and back, actually. But, the front porch was where all the action was. There were two swings that faced each other. One on each end. In between, there were rocking chairs. After a meal, we'd all congregate out there. The cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, siblings. If it was gardening season, we'd all have a dishpan full of peas in our laps and a big sheet stretched out in the middle for everyone to throw their hulls on as they shelled them. We'd spend hours out there just reading the paper, swinging, and visiting. Nowhere else to be. No phones to check. Occasionally, someone would get up to go in for a cold drink and they'd usually get a couple of requests to bring back a glass of tea, a cup of coffee, or a piece of pound cake since they were headed that way.
We could count on the bobwhites and doves to provide background music for our conversations. Sometimes, Granddaddy's cows and chickens would chime in. Cars would pass and my grandparents would always wave at each one. Didn't matter if they knew them or not. Often times, a passersby would honk their greeting and, sometimes, they'd pull in the driveway to say hello. I especially liked to go out there at dusk when the katydids were singing. I spent many hours on that slab of concrete with my family. Swinging, rocking babies, laughing, and talking. When I go back in my mind and visit my favorite memories, many of them are right there in that place.
Davis and I moved in our house in 2004. It's hard to believe that when Halloween rolls around, it will be 15 years. Before we built, we searched and searched for the right house plan. There were certain things we wanted and some things we didn't. One thing that was a must have for me was a big front porch. I wanted one that was substantial enough to accommodate two swings facing each other and a couple of rocking chairs in between. Just like the one in my memory. We finally found the right plan and our porch set up is almost identical to my grandparents'. It's the place to which we spill out when the house is full of people. Where we view the family fireworks on the 4th of the July. Sit to watch a storm blowing in. Visit with the neighbors. It's where I'd go if I wanted to get one of our kids alone to talk. Where we greet our guests and wave goodbye.  

It was just Davis and me at home, Labor Day weekend, so we'd decided it was past time to refinish our stained porch swings and front doors. The sun, heat, and moisture really work on the stain and varnish and break them down over time. The elements just slowly melt away the warm finish and leave it dry, cracked, and uninviting. With the way the morning sun bears down on the porch, they should really be refinished once a year and, well, we'd gone beyond that. So, Davis sanded them all down and I stained the front doors and framing, which left the doors and my hands with a beautiful, deep hickory finish. He stained the swings and, of course, when we were done, we wondered why we hadn't done it sooner. The porch looked so much more warm and inviting. Like new life had been breathed back into it. A far more welcoming place for people to come.

Porches aren't the social places they once were. Modern conveniences have brought us all inside and technology has made our contact less direct. We have more options for entertainment. More doors are closed than are open. We're looking down more than we're looking out, these days. We're convinced we no longer need to touch in order to stay in touch. We don't feel like we have to meet up with each other in order to keep up with each other. Sadly, porches are more for curb appeal, these days, than for congregating. We're just too busy and too distracted.

As we've retreated from the front porch and chosen less personal ways to visit, I think we've all noticed a different set of harsh elements bearing down on us. Isolation, negativity, loneliness, and apathy seem to be breaking down our own personal exteriors and making our once smooth edges kind of jagged. We've become more rough and callous toward our fellow man. Negativity is at epidemic levels. I've seen it beat against the town where we live. We've all watched it blow across our country. Seen it heat up between strangers on social media. Witnessed it disintegrate our political process. Watched it break down morale in work environments. It even corrodes places you wouldn't expect like churches and families. And, once it starts, it has a pile on effect.

Negativity is destructive. The further we get from living life face to face, the more uncaring we seem to become and the bolder we become with it. Just like the porches on our houses need attention, the porches on our hearts do, too. I know mine does. That outer finish that we all have that tells others what we're about- we can't expect those to be constantly exposed to negative news and internet tirades and our edges not become roughed up in the process. We can't really believe that our surfaces won't become dry and cracked if left out in those kinds of conditions. Negativity breeds negativity and, eventually, maintenance is required on that part of ourselves that either invites or repels others to be a part of our lives. More importantly, a part of God's family. We can either be His welcome mat or a growling dog out in the yard. I've seen in myself that it's so much easier to jump on the dogpile of negativity than it is to be encouraging and constructive. But, I think that's exactly what we're called to do. The harder things.
  
"Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise." Philippians 4:8  
 
"And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near." Hebrews 10:24-25 
 
"Let everything you say be good and helpful, so that your words will be an encouragement to those who hear them." Ephesians 4:29
 
"So then let us pursue what makes for peace and for mutual upbuilding." Romans 14:19


Maybe a little more time on the porch would help us all. It sure couldn't hurt.

See y'all next week.

If I survive the hellacious heat of the football game, that is.    

 
                

Well, August certainly was an eventful month around here with lots of birthdays, the unexpected funeral of a classmate, moving a kid to college, lightning striking Blair's vehicle in our driveway during a visit home and about 230,452 other things in between. But, if you've read the blog for very long, you know August's end is a somewhat triumphal time for me and my heat-loathing self. The psychological victory of surviving another southern summer was won the moment I could see the words, June, July, and August, in the rearview mirror. Here is actual footage of me hurling myself into September at the stroke of midnight.