KILGORE ÐÔÊӽ紫ý” IÐÔÊӽ紫ý™ve mentioned my front porch a few times in this space over the years.
I had no idea how much I would come to love my front porch when we bought this little house more than 24 years ago, and IÐÔÊӽ紫ý™ve always said I would be the happiest man alive if I could just figure out a way to get someone to pay me to sit on my front porch all day.
IÐÔÊӽ紫ý™ve been working from home on ThursdayÐÔÊӽ紫ý™s since the high school football season started eight weeks ago. ItÐÔÊӽ紫ý™s the only day of the week I donÐÔÊӽ紫ý™t see the office.
I typically get a workout in early, go visit with my stepdad and drink coffee for an hour or two and then come home and check pages for our weekly football preview ÐÔÊӽ紫ý” The Zone ÐÔÊӽ紫ý” put together stuff for the Friday and weekend newspapers and then write my weekly column.
ItÐÔÊӽ紫ý™s not a day off, but itÐÔÊӽ紫ý™s as close as a sportswriter/columnist is going to get this time of year.
I was sitting on my porch Thursday putting off writing my column when it hit me. Nothing was stopping me from bringing the laptop outside and seeing if the fresh air would help kick start my brain cells.
So, this weekÐÔÊӽ紫ý™s column is coming to you from my front porch, and ÐÔÊӽ紫ý” since IÐÔÊӽ紫ý™m on the clock ÐÔÊӽ紫ý” that means IÐÔÊӽ紫ý™ve figured out a way to get paid to be here.
ItÐÔÊӽ紫ý™s a tough job, but to make it official, allow me to share these observations.
As much as I am enjoying this beautiful, crisp fall day, my joy pales in comparison to that of my neighborÐÔÊӽ紫ý™s large, yellow lab, who has spent the last hour either sleeping in the sun or rolling in the leaves.
HeÐÔÊӽ紫ý™s probably not getting paid today like I am, but I donÐÔÊӽ紫ý™t think he minds.
I get angry when people run the four-way stop signs at my little corner, but I also feel sorry for them. It must be a terrible burden to be so important they have to risk their lives and the lives of others to be somewhere at 1 p.m. on a Thursday.
The bird feeder I keep loaded for my feathered friends is always busy, and it is visited by several species. Some are decked out in beautiful, bright colors. Some are plain, and a few are downright ugly.
Some sing a beautiful melody, and some are hard to listen to, but they sing anyway, and they seem to be having a good time.
Not sure what a bird needs to be happy, but I think they just need a little sunshine, a little food and some good friends to hang out with who donÐÔÊӽ紫ý™t worry about color, appearance or talent.
People could learn a lot from birds, except for Blue Jays.
Blue Jays are jerks. They donÐÔÊӽ紫ý™t sing, they squawk. They bully the other birds at the community feeder, and they donÐÔÊӽ紫ý™t even seem to get along with other Blue Jays.
If Blue Jays could drive, they would probably run four-way stop signs.
While the neighborÐÔÊӽ紫ý™s dog soaks up the sun and the birds eat and sing, my almost-famous dogs ÐÔÊӽ紫ý” Sarge and Bentley ÐÔÊӽ紫ý” alternate between frolicking in the yard or sleeping in a sunny spot.
IÐÔÊӽ紫ý™m convinced most of the worldÐÔÊӽ紫ý™s problems would go away if people spent more time sitting on the front porch drinking coffee, listening to the birds singing and watching dogs soak up the sun.
IÐÔÊӽ紫ý™m willing to do my part.
Heck. DonÐÔÊӽ紫ý™t tell my bosses, but IÐÔÊӽ紫ý™d even do it for free.
