There are likely those of you who imagine Sunday afternoons in "Birmin'ham, Alabama" to be like those wonderful black-and-white afternoons on the Andy Griffith Show with Andy, Opie, and "Aint" Bea sitting on the porch, she knitting, Opie playing with a nice quiet toy, and Andy strumming the guitar and humming gospel songs memorized from childhood, all occasionally waving at the passers-by on their peaceful street.

I imagine that, too. I don't live it, but I SO imagine it. I do have a porch, and this past summer I furnished it with lavish tropical plants and cedar gliders that match the facade of my home. I made my porch into a haven for my parents who visit daily and my children who prefer being outside.

Today, however, the plants are stone cold dead - wilted, pitiful vegetation that is ready for the compost heap. The big bin of outdoor doors is emptied and on the lawn I can count about fifteen items needing to be retrieved and put back - plastic bats, whiffle balls, basketball, football, butterfly nets, etc. And with stuff we're clearing out of the house we've added 2 twin-size box springs (don't need 'em with bunk beds), a set of pull-down stairs (like for access to the attic, but we're renovating and will be added a real set of stairs and no longer need them - but they've been sitting in my hall blocking my linen closet since about November!!!!!), and various boxes of junque (fancy spelling for junk!) that needs to be carted off by the local Salvation Army! No this porch is NO haven.