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Cleaning is not my favorite home topic, yet if we see it as an art, there is no telling where it will take us. I like to start with a plan so I don’t run into never ending syndrome” If we clean randomly, we’ll keep seeing dirt and damage in layer after layer and become discouraged before we finish the entryway! Let’s walk through every room first to survey every nook and cranny, then do the following:
Make three /ists: (I) deep cleaning (window washing or de cluttering closets), (2) routine maintenance (clearing cobwebs or polishing doorknobs), and (3) freshening up (dusting and organizing tabletops). • jot down what you need—cleaning supplies and tools or reorganization products.
• Create a schedule and timetable to complete your entire house. One week? Six weeks? Three months? A year? Using a separate calendar just for cleaning, write a particular task or tasks on each day of your calendar that is available to the project.
• Before starting, buy yourself a gift certificate for lunch at your
favorite restaurant and put it away in a safe place. (Or splurge
on one item for your home, wrap it up, and save it as a
reward for the end of the spring cleaning project.)
• Start with a nourishing snack or meal, dress comfortably, tie your hair out of your face, and don a pair of lightweight gloves. Beginning with your front door or at the heart of your home and working clockwise, declutter the first room along with its cupboards, drawers, and closets.
• Open all the windows in the room where you are cleaning. Start at the ceiling and clean downward, sweeping away cobwebs; wiping down walls, doors, cupboards, and countertops; washing windows; and finishing with the baseboards and floor:
• Celebrate the completion of each room with a favorite beverage or snack. Give yourself a hug and a pat on the back!
• Reward yourself when your spring cleaning project is complete. Get dressed up, grab your lunch certificate, and head on out for fun.

Perhaps not many of us have a literal front porch, yet don’t we all sense some kind of yearning for one? Front-porch experience is
way of being reborn by being present with yourself or someone else. My granddaughter clamors onto my lap, puts her chubby dimpled hands in my hair, and looks curiously at me with huge moonlit eyes. I want to move slowly and giggle loudly and hold her every minute I can. She carries within her this hankering for front-porch time as the day creeps to its close. She knows the front porch is all about letting go of things: the day’s business, emotional burdens, unresolved family issues. It’s about saying nothing, saying everything.
“Oh, look at all the beautiftil flowers.” That’s what my mom’s elderly father said just before he passed away on his Missouri front porch. Was he speaking of my grandmother’s garden or of far more beautiful flowers that no one else could see?
When I pass away, I would like it to be like my grandfather, surrounded by beautiful flowers of my life—Tirza, Leyah, Lissa, and Mira—and I hope it will be on my own front porch.

Though the midwestern, plain-and-simple style didn’t touch the gypsy soul that lay shrouded within me—it was here, from the front porch, that I was given a taste of life connected to the land, the ever-present wind, and the changing patterns of clouds above prairie.
How often do you see people along your suburban street sitting in stylish retro chairs drinking iced tea on a front porch?
My friend Brenda moved from our rural community back to an affluent neighborhood where house after house is lit up by the eerie glow from wall-size TV screens. She tells me she misses evenings where neighbors walk together, children come out to play, and people are more interested in what kind of music you like than what kind of car you drive.
Just around the corner from me, my dad sits on his front deck (Northwest jargon for “porch”) in his aluminum camp chair. He is there, he says, “to watch the parade go by.” The parade includes kids riding every size bike imaginable, dogs running at their sides; joggers mingling with Rollerbladers, and walkers strolling around the curve past the house—always with a wave.
Dad hasn’t forgotten how to sing, either. These days he’s more likely to launch into his own nostalgic version of “Kansas Land.” Five children live across the street from him, and one evening the oldest yelled, “Mitter ‘mith! Mitter ‘mith! ‘We don’t care if you sing!” Then the boy added with the same determined but courteous tone, “But we don’t want you to.” My father laughingly tells the story as often as people will listen. Porches, it seems, not only give us places to tell stories but stories to tell as well.

In southern states, porches are known as verandas. I’ve always dreamed of sipping a mint julep on one of these, or under a white- pillared colonnade with sweet magnolias dropping petals at my feet. Porch life seems to thrive where life is slower. Or does life slow down where porch life thrives?
In fast-paced Southern California, a real front porch is as rare as neighborliness. Although nearly every house has a patio or open courtyard to the rear, these do not reflect the community lifestyle of the Mexican culture from which they are adapted. In Mexico as in Spain, piazzas open to the front are places where villagers socialize and the party happens just because someone drops by.
In any state one may find swooning porches, sagging porches, or sleeping porches. They may be a wraparound style, screened in, covered, or open to the sky. However they’re made, their primary purpose is to offer a vantage point from which to observe, muse, welcome others, and engage in the shelter that is human conversation.
My parents’ family gatherings on Sunday after church always happened on the cement porch stoop. Aunts lay dish after dish potluck style there. Uncles started hand cranking the vanilla ice cream. I al*ays liked sitting on the lid of the ice-cream freezer, a thick towel serving as a seat, to steady the cold metal container nestled in the tubs of ice. My cousins took turns with the wooden handle while Grandma busied herself setting ironstone bowls and silver-plated cutlery, fetching more rock salt for the ice, and fretting that the little kids might get hurt on the merry-go-round Grandpa had made.

During a time when members of extended families lived together, porches contained the overflow of life. Grandparents and grandkids hung out together on back porches sheffing peas, snapping beans, and swapping stories. This is perhaps best explained in the words of Canadian musician and composer Michael Jones, who has said the changes in our lives come more through story than ideas. The exchange on porches was much like primitive humankind around the fire—one person passing along to others tradition, tribal history, family legacy, and personal insight and wisdom. A circular gathering place was the impetus for dialogue. In its embrace, something happened through us, not just between us
As a culture, perhaps we have lost the art of storytelling and now, suffering the pain of its absence, are looking to get it back. Where else but on the front porch once again?
In lieu of front porches in the l990s, many Americans turned
chat rooms to fulfill the need for human fellowship. Many found there a place to practice the old-fashioned art of conversation. Perhaps chat sites reinvented dialogue and storytelling
a new generation, showing that the need is great. But it takes the slow rocking of ideas and stories to communicate in an authentic way. Perhaps resourceful people on the Web will find a way to fulfill their need and then back it up with human presence. Imagine chat rooms as a back door leading to the front porch.

Today, however, innovative builders are bringing back the porch. In a surprising reversal of attitude, many families are now demanding a place to hang a bench swing and set a worn wicker rocker—if they’re lucky enough to find one.
The lives of children in retro communities, even with their new Craftsman-style affluence, are no more idyllic than those of children in the 1950s. As kids grow up, family time seems to become rare at any economic level. But a short browse on the Internet reveals the same longing articulated over and over again. The words in numerous essays and sermons and on bulletin boards and personal websites confirm what people want: to rebuild a sense of community. The conversation expresses a kind of universal hunger for symbols that facilitate belonging. Since we function in so many isolated spheres, again and again we are saying that we want public greens, sidewalks, and front porches.
In fact, one citizen prophet appeals for every building and houø to have a “gift” to the Street: a porch that invites interaction, Porches are the intermediary element between the privacy wt know inside our homes and the public face of the world rushing by. Experts say such spaces seem the most appropriate places to play out essential social rituals.
Speaking of social rituals, one Web user says she grew up in a Sicilian neighborhood where “women yelled at each other across porches.” Another notes that our national folk music was born on front porches in small rural towns—and that folk music became the way we talked to each other, commiserated, encouraged each other, and addressed our commonalities.