A front porch

A few nights ago, I had this blazing headache and didn't feel like anything.  I crawled under my covers and Adam found the News from Lake Wobegon on his phone.  We listened to it in the dark.  I drifted in and out of sleep.  I love hearing the News from Lake Wobegon.  It soothes me and entertains me and is the best salve for a blazing headache.

I slept deeply and the next day wondered what it was about Lake Wobegon that was so appealing to me.  I've only been to Minnesota long enough to see the Jolly Green Giant, I'm not from the prairie, I'm not Lutheran.  It resonates with me though.  It reminds me of something.

I finally landed on it.  It reminds me of my grandparents' front porch.  The one on their brick house, the house that burned when I was sixteen years old.  It was a deep front porch, covered and with steps that were perfect for sitting on.  There were wind chimes that tinkled in the light breeze and it was, in my memory, the most idyllic place imaginable.

It was the place where we gathered as cousins.  It was a place where our parents' laughter spilled out on summer nights when they were visiting in our grandparents' living room.  It was the place Grandma and Grandpa would stand, his arm around her shoulders, when we left their home.   They would call out, "Come again!"

And it was comforting to hear because I knew we were loved and welcomed and would indeed come again.

The brick house is gone, my grandparents are gone.  I hardly see my cousins though I am friends with some of them on Facebook.

I like Lake Wobegon though.  It's a mythical place that reminds me of another mythical place: my grandparents' front porch.

They are both places where "all the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average."

At least that's the way I see it.