How to build a porch

My mother wanted a back porch.  A porch would mean we would no longer track mud into her kitchen. It also would mean we were keeping up with the Joneses, and so, my father built a back porch. In the summer, it was a place for meals and relaxing in chairs or on the daybed, where I sometimes slept on hot nights. During the winter, since this was Buffalo, NY, it was a place to thaw the turkey, store containers of holiday cookies and, of course, our boots.

The second bedroom in my first apartment was really the unheated back porch, but my roommate was quite content, even on cold Chicago nights, to wrap up in several comforters and retreat to her space. In my third apartment, I had a balcony, the urban equivalent of a back porch. It faced south and was a great space for a morning cup of coffee but then often unusable until the sun started to set. Another place had a rather large landing, being the top of three flights of back stairs. Two chairs just fit and I bought an umbrella that came with a large clamp that attached to the railing.

I'm writing this on the back porch of my new place. It's enclosed, but with four large windows and a breezeway panel that is now hooked up for the season. My $2 dollar estate sale chairs are cheery with striped cushions and there are geraniums in colorful pots. It is peaceful here at daybreak as the bird chorus accompanies the sound of rain on the roof. 

That's what I've come to understand about back porches. They are a place of peace and quiet, of contentment and a sense that all can be right in the world. My father built one with concrete, wood, steel and linoleum tiles. With muscle, sweat and friends. I've found or recreated one in the midst of a busy barbecue on a crowded deck or dealing with writer's block trying to draft a musing from a rocking chair on a wraparound porch of an old Victorian mansion here in Oak Park. It's finding that feeling within yourself that makes the back porch ambiance, not the actual space that matters, although a view can help. While I smile at the memories of watching dolphins from a balcony in Hawaii and a herd of sheep from a front porch in New Zealand, being able to breathe and find a moment of rest in the midst of busyness at the office is what helps get me through the day. I wish you an easy way to build a back porch this week when you need it.

Marilyn

Making sense of scents

They say our strongest sense is the sense of smell, possibly because it evokes memories. Last weekend I followed a contemporary into the grocery store. In his wake, I was suddenly back in high school walking down a busy hallway behind any number of guys who had started dowsing themselves with English Leather. At that time, we girls were graduating from Evening in Paris to Chantilly. My mother wore Chanel No.5 and my dad, Old Spice. Any of those scents would have sent me back decades. 

Smells tell us of the change of seasons and when something is going bad is the fridge. I started a list of distinct odors and pared it down to: a walk through a spice market or past a bakery; a fishing boat, a barnyard, a freshly mown lawn; peonies, lilacs and eucalyptus; bbq, gingerbread and a fresh tomato. Like everything there is a flip side, so I need to include a dirty diaper and sulphur. One of my favorite TV series, Tenko, about British and Dutch female prisoners in Japenese camps during WWII, included an episode where they were traveling between camps and ended up at a compound that had showers. One of the women turned to the other and said, "I can smell that I don't!" I love that line.

After writing the above, I stopped and thought about our noses breathing in whatever smells there are in the air around us. A friend who recently broke her nose had said her appetite was diminished, in part because she couldn't distinguish any tantalizing scents. Another friend grieves no longer being able to bring her favorite flowers, stargazer lilies, into the house for they make her sneeze. At the office we have a conversation with new employees about being mindful of strong odors that can trigger a migraine for colleagues. I also thought about how various military organizations have utilized airborne weapons like mustard gas and how pharmaceutical companies experiment with sprays that can make some medicines easier to take.

Back to the gentleman wearing English Leather. After I smiled, I took a quick detour down a different aisle because he had been quite generous in his application of after shave. You've had a similar experience in an elevator or seated next to you at a concert. When you look, it is either someone who has started to lose their sense of smell and therefore overindulges, or someone who is just starting off and hasn't learned subtlety. Wherever you are on this spectrum, take some time this week to find a favorite smell, take a deep breath, and find someone to whom you can say, "Get a whiff of that!"

Marilyn

I know what I know

There are people who are Subject Matter Experts (SME). Sometimes one gains this status through academia, but most often by earning a reputation that may be based on book learning but that is honed through experience. Whether it is the person on the witness stand or the local mechanic, there are go-to people in small towns and metropolises who everyone knows will have the answer or get the job done.

I've been an SME on a variety of things in my career, and there were times when that fed my ego as well as paying the bills. In this wikipedia and google era, however, we can all be SMEs in an instant on any matter. It can be easy to overlook the blood, sweat and tears that many put in to earning the spot that enabled them to pen what others may claim as their own from digital sources. 

Now, I'm at a place in life and my career where, I think simply through age, persistence and experience, I have evolved into an SME generalist, a Jill-of-all-trades. I'm a trusted consultant, confidante and problem-solver. As such, I'll pass on the two most important things I've learned over the decades.

The first is that the greatest gift someone can give you is to really listen to you, and in this day and age when multitasking is valued and attention span is minimal, it is a rare gift indeed.

The second is that the words "I don't know" can actually take you farther in life.

Marilyn

What will?

Fill in the blanks: If ___________ doesn't force me to ______________, then what will? 

I don't know where your mind went with that, but a couple of things prompted this thinking for me. Current headlines, for one. If anger and disgust over what's happening in our country today doesn't force me to do something to facilitate change, then what will? Try though you might to prevent it, every conversation seems to get around to politics. One colleague has started keeping track of how long it takes. Now, talking about politics is not a bad thing. It can indicate engagement. But, what it mostly means is that people are complaining, expressing opinions, looking for agreement but not active solutions. Opposition counts on apathy to ensure the status quo. Our discontent doesn't seem to be at the tipping point yet. What will that be? For us collectively? For you? For me?

This 'what will' thinking really started last December. Cancer was behind me. It was the holidays, my first December in this home and I was thoroughly enjoying it and them. But, one morning during my quiet time I said to myself, "If having cancer doesn't force me to lose weight, then what will?"

For my whole life that been the biggest 'what will?' It wasn't love or logic. It wasn't embarrassment or encouragement, challenge or comfort, theology or therapy. Or, it seems, cancer. So, I don't have the answer to that question or the one above. Perhaps, as I continue to go mindfully through day-to-day life, at least being aware of the issue is enough. For now. Is it enough for you, with whatever is the biggest 'what will' in your life, to also simply be sitting with an awareness and contemplation of it to feel as though you are moving along its continuum? If not, what will?

Marilyn