From Doormat to Divas, Pt. I

But before we get to the story, let me share with you how I found myself here at 'porchview' working a two decade old idea, transforming from a door mat to bringing 'my Divas' to life....

I love the porch...only rarely and for brief intervals have I ever lived in a place that does not have a porch - or at least a deck, a place in which to retreat, look out into the woods or the water, and get recentered. My real porch is my retreat, my idea of down time. Comfortably cushioned wrought iron furniture, a hammock swing, lots of plants, and a rug that was too small for the living room now

sporting tufts of black and gold cat hair. There is a gurgling fountain, wind chimes, and my two feline companions. People come over, enter the kitchen door through the maze we call a garage, and eventually step out to the porch and say 'oh, so this is Rose's room'. Exactly.

I'm fortunate to live in a place where there are more trees than roads, where deer graze in our front yard, the cats chase rabbits and catch moles, lizards and birds, and where the occasional snake, skunk, opossum, or ground hog makes an appearance. The background noise is that of crickets, katydids, tree frogs, and the big fat toad that lives with my goldfish in a water garden under the kitchen window. Cars do pass by at the bottom of the mountain, along with the trains four times a day, and the pony-sized neighbor's dog makes its presence known. (He dug under of fence during the Chirstmas holiday, out Dalmation and Sheppard working from the inside and broke them out of doggie jail, resulting in two weeks lost in the national forrest).

Late in the summer day squealing kids and teenagers enjoying the pools of surrounding houses remind me that life does exist beyond the buffer of trees. Life is good here. As long as you don't expect to find a high paying job, or need a night life. But you know those things when you take up residence.

Living here at the base of the Appalachian Mountains you know that Country Music, Bluegrass and Southern Rock will blare out of more car windows than jazz; that fried 'meat and three' is the staple of any restaurant that survives the months after tourists and vacation home owners head back to the city. We take for granted that SUVs and trucks far out number Hybrids and foreign sports cars, and that the Southern Fundamentalists will always feel the call to pressure you to 'come to church with us' leaving threats of fire and brimstone in wake of your proclamation that you are happy with your spirituality and relationship with the higher power. Not participating in organized religion is blasphemy, and any sense of intuitive ability is kin to devil worshipping. Its all a trade off for a slower pace, a laid back lifestyle, and fewer street lights glaring into your bedroom window.

But there is a another dimension to this world of Northeast Georgia (NEGA) beyond mountains, trees, wildlife, and an independent church on every corner. People are drawn here because they feel something. I first realized this when I worked in the tourism industry during my late teens. Tourists would describe this 'gravitational pull'; 'The air just smells different'; 'its really relaxing here'; 'what do ya'll put in the water to make it taste so good?' or' Great energy in this place'.

Knowledge retained from elementary school science (thanks Ms. Dixon, some of it stuck) reminds me that all things living have a energy about them: cells vibrating to create life energy. Well, it just makes sense that all these trees, green plants, and bodies of water would give off a different feeling of 'energy' than say, concrete, high rises full of people, and automobile exhaust. But I'm no scientist nor am I a metaphysical guru, just a woman who is very sensitive to the things around her. Sometimes a gift, sometimes a damn frustrating, and annoying distraction. But, you take the good with the bad. And you learn to block out the stimulation and protect yourself from what you don't care to 'hear'. Probably closer to the truth of why I prefer a rural area, a quieter atmosphere, working at a small school, and fewer people. Discount stores and malls give me a charge of energy for a few minutes then I go into overload...too much to process.

Living in a quieter world you have more time and space to go within...to, what a great life coach I work with describes as "live in your own head". And that's what I do...I ignore the dishes piled in the sink, the floor that needs a vacuum, the baskets of clean clothing piled on the bench at the foot of our bed and retreat into my own world. Occasionally a really good TV show will get my attention...Saving Grace, Lost, The Mentalist, The Eleventh Hour or Bones. I guess you are seeing a pattern there, my love of a mystery and suspenese. But they are the exception to the rule and rarely last more than a season or three. But that's OK; the story in my head is much richer, the textures more diverse, the sounds and sights more real than anything on what my Dad used to call 'the idiot box' can offer. I'll admit 50" plasma in HiDef with surround sound is getting close, but lordy do I get a headache from that behemoth.

So here I am again on my porch - wrapped in a blanet, thick sweats on trying to get the very last day of porch time in. Enya, Sade, Staid, Creed, and Nickelback on my iPod, and my personal mixture of herbal tea from plants I harvested (along with lots of weeds, somethign I'm really good at growing) in my flowerbed.

Put your feet up, have a glass of what bikerboy calls my 'potion' and grab a snack off that tray while the soup simmers. It still needs a thing or two before I give you at taste. But were almost there - my own private place in which I've been retreating for over two decades. This is no place for wimps, or for those with narrow minds 'cause if things go as I plan, it WILL get strange there. And no negativity or evil intentions are allowed...if that's the kind of energy that 'floats your boat' then move on to the next blog, you won't like it here.....


(c) 2008 Rosanne Chastain Short