Welcome Wagon

                                                                         









I came tight packed in Mayflower boxes, and ready for my next front porch. The “new boy” from somewhere else.

Snoopy didn't make it to Texas, the last time I saw her she was licking the packers face.

This porch  had  front row seats for the blue-black thunderstorms and lightning. Day or night I never-ever tired of their Snap Crackle and Boom.

Mom’s morning  alarm clock scrape, scrape, scraping the day’s burnt toast  would wake and call us to years of Shreveport strawberry fig preserves.

Mimosa tree houses and cardboard forts, bayou's, horny toads and carded spokes fueled on honey-butter white bread sandwiches. I even taught Quacker how to fly before we gave away too.

Full-immersion hot Texas suit & hat Sundays, finally freed  to turn the knob on our front door and loose a house full of pot roast air- just welcoming us with her open arms.

Heck it was only 5 hours to Grannies house for Dr Pepper and thick cut ham,  tongue licked and salted tomato sleep.  Her fire-fly fairies protected us till dawn.

Dad could drive for hours lunched on a  bottle of Coke with peanuts floating inside – his roads knew no end.His Georgia Express could make it between the twin dark ends of one long day.

Me and a shortened 5 iron shagged a million smiley-cut golf balls for him. I so loved the sound and feel of those cleats and the turf-smack of that small club.

Years of  August sucking us and the towels dry of puddle-sopped water. Those never ending football 2-a-days. Hoping to make the old man proud and stay alive till the cool fall  nights.

Sometimes you won the coin flip and got the tip of dinners tongue- Oh what a tender prize.

More often than not paddled and kissed with words of love; half sticks of gum and a hug.