Tin Roof

I feel like Old Grandpa Jones, smokin' his corn cob pipe, talkin' from his rocker, because true summer has come to Ohio, and the pleasures of the past are the pleasures of the present. I live in a 1950's house. There is an ironing board that comes down from the wall in the kitchen and a big, yellow stove. Everything is the way it was, and now my screens are back in the windows of my back porch, swapped out for the cold weather glass.

I have an overhang off this porch, crumbling trellises with a ripply, galvanized tin roof. This makes it dark, and dark on the porch, so Beau the handy friend is going to replace three sections of it with translucent, ripply white plastic. He'll paint the gray walls of the porch white , too.

It's time to lighten up!

Tonight there was a rainstorm. A perfect, beautiful Midwest rainstorm. And I sat on the porch like every Grandpa Jones in Ohio has done summer after summer after rain after rain after storm; smelling it, feeling it on my face and in my brainstem, listening to the ancient/constant sound of rain on my old tin roof.