BUCKING THE SYSTEM: OFF THE FRONT PORCH AND FEELING OUT OF THE LOOP

I miss my house.

It's been five long weeks since our house was destroyed by fire, and I'm still not sure when we'll be able to return home.

Amazingly, the insurance company has been great about finding us somewhere to stay and helping us line out the expenses, but as anyone who's had this experience will tell you, it just ain't the same as home.

The road back home has been full of lumps and bumps and downright sinkholes. We've hired contractors and fired contractors, been lied to and talked about, all in the name of the almighty dollar.

Now Patrick and I -- two intelligent but very ignorant people when it comes to anything mechanical or tool-oriented -- have taken on the role of contractors in an effort to get back into our house before the leaves start to turn. We're making progress and learning a lot, but we're still not where we want to be -- back home.

There are so many things that I miss about my house. Not that it was the prettiest house or had the biggest rooms or the best decorations. It's a great house even without all the extras because it was mine.

Of all the areas of my house, I think I miss my front porch the most. That was my special place, an area I could be sure would always be neat enough for me to find a place to sit and share a moment or two with my favorite people.

The front porch was where Patrick and I would go on "dates" after putting the kids to bed. It was an ideal place for us to get a little QT because our chairs would be right outside their window in case Jerry or PJ needed us, but we could sit and talk together in peace without two very determined bodies trying to squeeze between us.

We especially liked sitting on the porch during rainstorms. The big shade tree that overhangs the porch protected us from getting wet (it's an old porch, so I'm guessing that was a possibility), while allowing us to watch people scurrying home and listening to the sounds of nature at work.

It was also where Patrick or I would sit and play with the kids while waiting for each other to come home. There were many days when Jerry would jump up and down in his excitement, screaming "Here comes my Daddy. Here comes my Daddy" when he saw Patrick coming home in the afternoons.

And you can't imagine how nice it feels to pull into the driveway and see your men sitting on the steps, waiting to give you sloppy hugs and kisses as you plop down in an exhausted heap beside them.

Our porch also was special because it served as a water cooler of sorts whenever we had friends over. All the women would naturally gravitate to comfortable seating in the sitting room. In contrast, our other halves opted for concrete steps or plastic lawn chairs so they could enjoy private conversations that were too manly to share in front of the women.

I miss that porch, even with its splotches of paint from careless painters in the past and its wobbly railing that was decorative but not much support. Not that it's gone: it's just not as readily available as it was.

You know, back in the old days people depended upon porches. Even if they were only a couple of dilapidated pieces of wood, porches were important because they were involved in the community's communication.

That's where people gathered to escape the heat of the day, and where they sat and waved at passersby. The porches where to places parents took children for important talks, and where, if the mosquitoes weren't bad, you could get a cool night's sleep if you didn't have air conditioning.

Not that I remember all of that, those are just things I've heard from my parents and others when they start complaining about how fast life is today. I appreciate their memories, though, and I'm glad I've had the chance to experience just a little taste of what they've been talking about.

Porches are nice. I want mine back.