Whispers from Heaven's Front Porch

          What is it about the Front Porch and the South? In warm weather,  it is coolly inviting. Families congregated on the front porch for conversation, a cool glass of tea, and for watching neighbors and friends pass, signaling a greeting. The Front Porch is a Southern staple, as much as sliced tomato and cucumber summer salad.
                Back yards, patios, decks, and privacy fencing have moved our porch sitting habits to a more secluded area. Outdoor living spaces include grills, swimming pools, and outdoor lighting located in the rear of the home. Nothing replicates the inviting community feel of a beautiful front porch, though, as it welcomes folks to experience “porch sitting.”

Iconic Front Porch in Rector, AR

       In my imaginings, Heaven has a Front Porch. Family ancestors are occupying rocking chairs, or a porch swing, as I remember from childhood experiences. To me, Heaven’s Saints rock in oversize chairs on that Front Porch; the Cloud of Witnesses observe my life and yours as they sip sweet tea with a sprig of mint. 

                              Hebrews 12: 1 (NIV) - Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.

                   This passage and the sermon preached called attention to the church balcony inviting us to picture there our own "great cloud of witnesses.” The pastor exhorted us to populate the balcony with the people in our lives who impacted our spiritual walk, our daily commune with our fellow man, and our interactions with the world.  These persons who occupy the pews in the imagined Balcony of Heaven observe us, witness our lives.  They live in us through their profound influence. 

In addition to the faithful whose stories are told in the Bible, we recall more people in the “great cloud." Teachers, Sunday School and youth leaders, neighbors and family members have shared their faithful lives with us and are on Heaven’s Porch, witnessing.  Listen for their encouragement.  It may be in that breeze that just whispered across your Front Porch.  Pictured: grandmother (L)Mildred Gordon Horne and great aunt (R)Frances Gordon Usrey.

If I Can Dream, Let My Dream Come True - It's Elvis Week

           Dig out your diary and your memories of Elvis.  It's Elvis Week. Did you attend a concert/Live? Did you have tickets to the concert in Memphis that never happened?  Which albums did you buy?  Which singles? What were your favorite Elvis movies?  After all, Elvis and James Dean were the original "bad boys" or our era.  Elvis, though, gyrated his hips.

Do you remember where you were when you learned that Elvis Presley had died in Memphis?

                                              August 16, 1977.  36 years ago.  He was 42.
               
                 I was leaving Germantown Middle School, driving toward Poplar Avenue, just at Germantown Village Mall.  Dinstuhl’s Candy retail store was my first stop because Becky and I were good friends.  She had the inside scoop; her then-husband was a Shelby County Sheriff’s Deputy and often had some security detail for Elvis Presley.
               Memphis went nuts. Screaming, crying fans threw themselves upon the walls of Graceland. Drive-by motorcades stopped traffic on Hwy 51-S, later renamed Elvis Presley Blvd.  Elvis never made it to his customary floor at Baptist Hospital- Central, a structure that has now been razed.  He died, ungracefully, alone, on the bathroom floor of his upstairs, darkened retreat at Graceland.  By that time, he was a tad overweight, known now as the 'Fat Elvis.'
               

         In 1977, he was still handsome, but not the Elvis we remember from his Army photo, or the hunky Elvis with that sexy, one-sided smile in GI Blues or Blue Hawaii. Even at his fluffiest, Talya would have driven from east Arkansas and paraded at a crawl by his hospital room, hoping to glimpse any movement, even as the sun reflected from the foil covering his windows.  Mary Ellen was certain I knew Elvis personally, and was privy to the inside scoop since I lived in Memphis and so did Elvis.
               When someone dies young, the person remains ageless in our collective memory; our Elvis will never be old, will never walk with a cane or forget the way home.  We’ll never see Elvis with gray hair and wrinkles and will never hear him trying to belt out his signature #1 Singles, trying to hit the notes or remember the lyrics, similar to the most unfortunate Glen Campbell, a victim of Alzheimer’s disease.
             During Elvis Week, sightings are common. The Big Screen at the Orpheum features the Aloha from Hawaii Concert (January 14, 1973) and this year, the movie Viva Las Vegas will be shown at another venue. My favorite event featured The Memphis Symphony Orchestra in a pops concert with huge backdrop of Elvis video feeds. The musicians thrilled the audience with well-loved Elvis standards and Elvis’ gospel tunes, as Elvis himself crooned and moved about on screen.
              There is no separating Elvis from Memphis. Elvis will continue to stroll the streets and attend all Memphis Tiger athletic events, regardless of how often we are told that he has “left the building.”

Sizzling Wonder Bread, Bubbling Butter, and Melty Cheese Spillage

                 Comfort food needed. In today's unsettling atmosphere, the country craves comfort.  And, it’s not chocolate. 
                 It’s a Grilled Cheese Sandwich.  The kind of delicacy served with a mug of Tomato Soup…on a Sunday night.  It’s the Grilled Cheese Sandwich with perfectly grilled, buttered bread, sliced to reveal oozing, warm cheese constituting a perfect side to vegetable soup on an autumn day.  After all, how can you ruin bread, butter, and cheese?  Unless you burn it.
                Richard is my Grilled Cheese Connoisseur.  As a child, he did bring down the gavel on the best fish sticks or pizza or hamburger.  It was popsicles and grilled cheese that satisfied Rich.
               So, when the first-grader would spend the week before school started with Nana and Poppy, he was the center of their universe.  Poppy played war and trucks and watched Cartoons; Nana cooked and catered to his every desire; and Lou, our neighbor, took him to the one and only McDonald’s for some fries and an adventure on the playground.
              I should not have been surprised when he handed me Nana’s Recipe for A Grilled Cheese Sandwich. “Oh, Nana,” my young'un reportedly said, “this is sooo good.  You make the best grilled cheese sandwich.  Would you write down your recipe for my mommy?” I have yet to live down that day in family history.
             Lately, I have been astonished to learn of the Grilled Cheese International, the 11^th annual competition to determine who makes the best Grilled Cheese Sandwich, with Categories.  The Missionary is the grilled plain bread, butter, and cheese variety and the Karma Sutra is “anything goes,” with an endless variety of add-ons grilled with zesty cheeses between two slices of who-know-what variety of bread.  How did this happen?
              In addition, there is The Grilled Cheese Truck in Southern California, making the rounds and scheduling various towns and avenues for stops so folks can order and pay over $5 for gourmet grilled cheese concoctions and more for sides of pickle spears, chips, or a cup of tomato soup.
              A stylized school bus, decorated, fabricated into the Grilled Cheese Childhood Experience food truck, promises to recreate the delicious comfort sandwich that your mom made for you.  By savoring one of their sandwiches, you relive a moment from your glorious childhood, unless, of course (they have a disclaimer), your childhood sucked. 
Their varieties include the Kindergartener and Pre-schooler (which is the same as the former, but with the crusts cut off!)

            

Where was my brain when these entrepreneurs began their journey to fortune with a Grilled Cheese Sandwich? 

After all, I have the perfect recipe!

The Serendipity of Facebook

                             Today, and for many days over the past months, I have experienced “writer’s block.” Nothing is worth the expenditure of creative energy…nothing seems funny or especially interesting, except for the exchanges between classmates from CHS, C/O ’66.
                           I’m a listener; I hear your voices, but I’m quiet, so you won’t realize I’m enjoying your good-natured banter.  I guess it’s rude to eavesdrop, but I’m allowed, through Facebook. Your comments transport me to a time I had forgotten.  I’m there, and you are, too.
                            Vicariously, I travel with you as former neighbors and classmates. Everyone is gracious and shares pictures and comments.  It’s  a pleasure to ‘like” your insights, recognize the same things as amusing or poignant.
                           Seeing photos of your children and grandchildren on vacations and at birthdays allows me a familiarity I once spent every day enjoying. Where did the years go?  I’m so glad to have a reunion with you daily.
                         

From the ages and days now spent, from the seconds that separate us in time, a singular thread emerges and weaves our lives together; we share memory, rich and full.
                           
This connection has been the serendipitous discovery in Facebook, and I am grateful to you all.