My father and his friends have a sport that they call "competitiveporch-sitting", which consists of sitting out on the porch. My father is a champion porch-sitter; he can shoot the breeze out there for hours and hours, long after a lesser man would have given up and retired to the kitchen.
Dontcry, it sounds like your house would be the perfect place for a tournament!
Yarb - My porch is your porch! They (I have two) are resplendent with wicker and rockers, gingerbread trim with peeling paint, lazy dogs, bull frogs, bats and cats. The peonies are almost done, but the hydrangeas are about to bloom! As soon as I figure out how to link (I know, I know, it's EEEEEASY...) I'll send a pic!
Yarb - yes, it was! All's clear now, in the sky anyway. There will be chain saws a-buzzing and lots of kids picking up sticks tomorrow. The storm took all the humidity out of the air. It'll be a good night for cool summer night breezes lifting lace curtains, sitting on the porch in still damp wicker rockers, smelling the soap-fresh necks of children in their jammies, and offering thank-you prayers to a now clear and starry, starry night. Ah-men.
Sitting in the interior hallway, (19th century farm houses don't have basements -- they have cellars and the snakes called dibs) three feet between the 100-year-old plaster wall (behind which sits the 100-year-old fireplace) and the 500 pound radiator with two kids, a dog, a rabbit and a radio. (they don't call them 'hardwood floors' for nothing) Wind howls, thunder booms, lightning cracks, and so do trees. (we'll be ok...lots of branches to clean up, eh?) Tornado warnings bring families together.