Category: Nostalgia

Front porchThank you for signing up for the Front Porch Stories newsletter.

As a child, I sat on our front porch where passing neighbors stopped to chat for a while. I listened to the adults tell stories about news events, the good old days, and unusual relatives. I wish I had written down all those stories.

Unfortunately, we don’t sit on the front porch and share conversations anymore. But I hope to tell some of those stories, anyway. Therefore, this newsletter will be my front porch!

Typically, newsletters will go out about every two weeks…unless life interrupts – and life always interrupts. Topics include stories about the days gone by, the challenges of growing older and being a caregiver, and the delights of being a grandparent.

Thanks for being here. I’d love to hear from you with suggestions (Be nice!), your own stories, or ideas to make this site more helpful to those of us who have moved into the next season of life. You may add your responses and thoughts to the comments sections or send an email. 

Finally, be patient with me. As you know, building a webpage and designing newsletters is a learning process. As a result, these offerings are far from finished or looking as I first imagined. But they are getting closer to what I want them to be. I hope you find something useful, entertaining, or helpful in these letters.

 

Deb Richmond, Author 

Recent Posts

 

 

When i was a kid…

1960s nostalgia

 

When I was a kid, we once took a summer vacation by roping off a segment of the farmer’s cow pasture, pitching a tent, and setting up a small charcoal grill. The fishing by the river was good, but the cow patties were a bother. 

When I was a kid, we rode to Canada with a caravan of family and friends. Four or five of us kids rode in the back of Dad’s pick-up truck, lying flat on a plywood board held up by the wheel wells. A piece of jagged carpet covered the splinters. Five-gallon jugs of gasoline were stored under our plank bed. 

When I was a kid, the dark, the wood-paneled basement became Barbie-doll/G.I. Joe city. We turned the creepy shelves under the basement stairs into a country store. From acardboard box, we made a boat, a cabin, a rocket ship. We often put a grocery box on the Radio Flyer wagon and pretended to be riding an Amish buggy. My brother would push the wagon with me in it down the steep hill by the old farmhouse. My buggy had no horses to lead the way. 

Ah, the nostalgia – stories about the good old days when I was a kid fill my mind and make me laugh, even the ones that filled me with terror as a child. As an adult, I do everything I can to care for and honor those folks who filled my mind with delightful memories. As a grandparent, I do everything I work to fill my little ones with memories so they can one day look back and laugh and remember the good old days.

House on the Highway

porch neighbors

 

Empty Porches

milk glass vase

The Broken Vase

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