Story Stacking on a Lazy Dazy Sunday

The man is zeroed in on the Masters. I can see his blond head from here. I’m back porch writing in my new Swingasan. (LOVE this thing!)

Just a little while ago Papa and Mama came by for a quick cup of coffee. While they were here our conversation turned to Mama’s parents, my beloved grandparents and their camp on the Old River. It didn’t take us long to stack up a ton of stories from those years, almost all of them revolving around Papaw’s shenanigans. Stick around. I’ll tell you more of those as time goes by.

I suppose all that storytelling primed me but no sooner had they left and I’d settled back into my writing spot when a smell drifted up from the lake bank and took me away.

I’m a little girl again at Papaw’s camp, sunburned and satisfied with a bellyful of fried catfish fresh from the River. My middle sister and I are snuggled three deep in a tiny bed at the back of the camp along with our favorite cousin, Lisa. Papaw’s camp is a hodgepodge of add-on spaces tacked around an original trailer and we’re bedded down in a far corner. I remember white all around me, the sheets, the walls, the ceilings. It feels like we’ve been tucked in the bottom of an old comfy sock. We’re supposed to be sleeping but it’s summer time and we’re at the camp and our parents are up late laughing and talking, telling their own stories and making new ones.  Bed times have relaxed along with everything else.

By the time I come back to this porch the memories have had their way. I am decidedly mellow and that much more eager to get back to the manuscript at hand.  I hope you read it one day and on that day, I hope it takes you to a similar place of peace, comfort, and love.

Happy Sunday to you all.

Hugs, Shellie