By Icy Frantz
Some of my favorite lines come from one of my favorite movies, the 1989 romantic comedy, Say Anything. In it, John Cusak, also one of my favorite actors, is asked by the father of his girlfriend, Diane:
“What are your plans for the future?”
To which he responds: “I plan to spend as much time as possible with Diane.”
“Seriously?”
“I am totally and completely serious.”
The exchange feels so romantic, innocent and honest. I was thinking of these lines when I was asked a few months back, “What are your plans for the summer?” and my immediate answer was, “I plan to spend as much time as possible on my back porch.”
“Seriously?”
“I am totally and completely serious. ” And I was.
Sitting on my back porch became a cherished activity this summer. Some may find it hard to call sitting on a porch an activity, but the sitting always accompanied action…such as reading, writing, celebrating and relaxing into the hum of Long Island Sound and the scent of my garden. I spent my time there alone or surrounded by friends and family. It didn’t matter but this out door room was both grounding and protective. If it were up to me, I would have stayed put on that back porch all summer long, but some days, the rhythm just seemed to pick up, just like when a pinball machine launches its ball, resulting in a frenzy of blinks and beeps, lighting up the playing field until dropping slowly into the drain, when we’d all collapse back down on the porch.
My family and I relished our time out back watching the sun shift west as the hours of the days ticked by. We took note of the morning sun, weak but full of hope, the midday sun, hot and harsh, and the late day sun, soft and gentle. If I were a photographer, I would applaud the late day sun and the way it provides the ideal light in which to capture an image. And, like a photographer, I became intrigued by the light, the way it bounced off of our neighbors’ homes, casts shadows dancing among the trees and illuminated a face, and it made me consider how in life, certain opportunities have the ability to also cast us in our best light.
This past spring, I was feeling uncomfortable in my own skin. I was letting the little things get to me, cursing at bad drivers on the Post Road, complaining about the traffic on I-95 and worrying about situations that I knew were no big deal. I was in desperate need of a reality check and decided my 12-year-old material girl could use a check as well.
So at the end of July, we left the back porch and headed to Cuenca, Ecuador, where we spent a week assisting an organization I’d learned about over the internet, called OSSO (Orphanage Support Services Organization). My daughter and I were assigned to the Orphanage for children with special needs. At first, I felt ill equipped and overwhelmed and, although I tried to be helpful throughout the five-hour shift, I wondered quietly if I had made a big mistake. Our daughter stood close by, looking uncomfortable and uncertain as to how to be a good assistant.
Over the course of the week, we worked in four different orphanages, often ten hours a day and as our time in Cuenca passed, I watched our daughter begin to engage first with the babies, and then with the toddlers and teenagers, and on the last day with the children with special needs. On the flight home, she grabbed my journal and wrote down the names of all of the children we had met. She didn’t want to forget. And, I didn’t want to forget how our Ecuadorian experience, although challenging and heartbreaking, allowed her to reach beyond her familiar surroundings to help others. Sometimes, we need to travel far from our safe haven in order to gain perspective and find opportunities that ultimately ground us.
Service to others will often do that, but sometimes caring for family and loved ones can have a similar effect. I am at that age when my children still need a lot, but in the past few years, my parents have also been in need of attention. Caring for our parents can throw us into uncharted territory and take us out of our comfort zone and, yet, I have watched many of my friends look after their aging, sometimes ailing parents in ways they never expected and somehow finding the extra hours in a day that is already full of pick-ups, drop offs, applications, school meetings and jobs. And, I have come to understand that this love, once bestowed on us, is also opportunity to shine in the flickering light of our parents. Perhaps one of my finest moments this summer was spent with my husband, children and my mom, eating a casual dinner on, you guessed it, the back porch.
One of my sons spent a little more time on the back porch this summer than he would have liked. In July, he blew out his knee, tearing his ACL and LCL. It put a huge monkey wrench in his summer plans as his walk-up apartment in NYC no longer made sense, and traveling to and from his internship was more challenging. Maybe the silver lining was that he had more time with me on the back porch, where he recovered from surgery and gained strength to persevere. He returned to his summer internship and at 6 a.m., three times a week, fit in his physical therapy appointments and spent the extra down time playing the guitar.
This summer, I also loved the time I spent with others on their back porches. On one friend’s porch, I celebrated my birthday with a few close friends. It was beautiful. The table was adorned with blue hydrangeas, and we ate summer corn and tomatoes from the garden, and after I would have loved to have stayed longer in the comfy chair and taken a nap.
In the beginning of August, I traveled to California to spend time with a friend battling cancer. Her back porch was actually the kitchen table, where she could sit or lay down, depending on her needs. Ours was a friendship that I had let slip away. There were precious moments that we had missed in the last 20 years: the births of our children and the celebration of milestone birthdays. But we had been in each other’s weddings and we had spent four years together at a boarding school and some wonderful times after graduating from college. With her diagnosis, my desire to reconnect with her was pressing and, fortunately, I have been able to these past six months. I had really missed her. Sitting around her kitchen table, we held hands, we remembered and we mourned the time we missed. We righted the past and I felt the light of grace.
The sun is setting on summer. Days are growing shorter. There is less time to consider the changing light. Math packets and summer reading have joined us on the back porch. Our driveway that once looked like a used car lot is emptying out. I ate my first candy corn this week (really, I did), and the other night I wrapped myself in a blanket to stay warm at the close of a day as I enjoyed my familiar spot outside.
I have friends beginning new jobs, children embarking on exciting experiences, new endeavors and old routines. Life will be more full; the pinball will stay afloat longer.
“What are your plans for the Fall?”
I plan to venture farther off the back porch, reluctantly at first, but with a gained perspective. And, I will welcome the new autumn light, clear and crisp with the absence of humidity and, as the days grow colder, I hope to meet you in the glow of the burning fire where I will stay put until it gets warm again.
“I am totally and completely serious.”
