Unswung Porch Swing

We have a nice wooden swing on our front porch (looks kind of like the one in the pic)—big enough for two people. We hardly ever use it—during the initial Covid outbreak some of our family would use it when they visited while we sat at the other end of the porch, a safe distance away.

Twice a year—in fall and in spring—our son and older grandson come up to remove it and replace it (guess which task occurs when?). They store it on our screened/windowed back porch so that the snow doesn’t pile on it in the winter; they bring it out again when it’s safe.

Joyce and I used to do that remove-and-replace job until a few years ago when my instability (physical, not mental!) rendered such a task impossible.

When it’s really windy in the months it’s on the porch, it will sometimes bang against the porch railing nearby. If it’s at night, and I am trying to sleep, I curse. During the day I try to ignore it—though if it’s Nap Time, I curse. Using words my mother probably didn’t know—or at least pretended she didn’t.

Mom didn’t like cursing of any sort. “Hell’s bells!” was about the strongest execration I ever heard emerge from her.

I learned the word execration in an American lit class at Hiram College with Dr. Ravitz. It comes from an account of the crossing of the Mayflower. In William Bradford’s story he tells about a young, ill-tempered seaman who was forever uttering “grievous execrations” aimed at the poor and sickly on board.

My mom, less tolerant than Bradford, once smacked my face when she thought I’d said the word hell when what I’d said was help (I was talking about helping in the kitchen!).

Dad never swore around the house, either. But because he’d been in the Army during WW II and had grown up on a farm, we figured he knew plenty. But restrained himself at home.

My brothers and I? We’re a far different story.

One of the pleasures (for me) of reading/seeing Shakespeare is recognizing the naughty (though out-of-date) words he uses. I’m sure they entertained the groundlings at the Globe, as well.

So somehow I began with a porch swing and swung into Shakespeare and profanity. What a swinger I am, eh?

And how well I know that all stories end up leading to Shakespeare eventually.