Writer’s Block

Sometimes, a change of scenery gives you a whole new perspective on life

At 72, I have travelled to many places around the world in my time so it wasn’t unusual for me to fly from Alberta to Los Osos, California, to spend a week with a friend.

It was a Sunday afternoon in July, 2018, when my friend suggested a road trip, partly sightseeing but mostly to visit his family in Atascadero, a city in San Luis Obispo, California. This trip changed my life, something I didn’t think was possible at my age.

The scenery was beautiful, rolling hills and open grassland, definitely different from our Alberta scenery. We arrived in Atascadero and a few minutes later, we were turning down a residential street that looked like a country lane. We drove into the family’s driveway and what greeted us was a very large, very old, black walnut tree. I was sure there were many stories this stately tree could tell.

The house matched the tree, it was more than 100 years old. We went up the wooden steps onto the porch. A very ordinary porch I thought, but now I know that was not the case. This porch was special. This porch would change my life.

We went into the house, which had its own story to tell. It had been through a major fire and had been rebuilt. The porch, along with portions of the house, had survived. It had guts—it had wanted to live on because it hadn’t finished its journey. A fire was not going to change that.

It was very warm that July afternoon, so we went back out to sit on the porch. It would have been unbearable had it not been for a spray of water coming from a tube that surrounded the top of the porch. The cool water dripped on everything and everyone but no one minded, it provided welcome relief from the heat.

It did not take long before drinks were being poured, pot was being passed around and the music started. I sat mesmerized. In all my years, I had never taken part in a hippy-like get- together. With two guitar players, a drummer and a singer, the party was well on its way. They didn’t need anything else or anyone else to make this scene complete.

Sitting on the porch that day did indeed change my life. These people were enjoying a simple life, music obviously being their first love, not bothered by their personal

problems or the problems of the world— that would have to wait for another day. Nothing was so important that it could ruin this little soiree.

I realized as I sat on that porch that my life had always been somewhat complicated, everything planned in advance, everything in its place and a place for everything. No time to sit on a porch, no time to stop and smell the roses. I have always been a perfectionist and, for many years, I’d been satisfied to dance to the very rigid tune that played in my head. I didn’t really know a different way.

When we left, it was evening. I felt a little sad that this get-together was over. I had a choice to make, return to Canada and carry on living my scheduled life or, change it, and spend more time on a porch, any porch would do.

That day, I realized that things don’t matter, people do. An ordinary porch, wooden and well-worn, in need of a paint job and repairs, was nothing alone, it needed the love of the people who know how important it is to have “a porch” in their lives. Now if only that porch could talk.