April 08, 2009              




(Written on April 6)


The Porterhouse Restaurant burned, partially on December 27, 2008, in an act of fate. Then on April 05, 2009 what was left was burned in an act of completion, never to be returned, except in my heart, forever and ever.


The Porterhouse was once my grandparentsí home and my place of refuge for all that was innocent and happy, clean and restorative. It was the place where dreams are born and restored, where the love of family is cherished and perpetuated. It was Grammie and Grampaís, and it was the place that would always be there, until April of 2009, when it became a place of reality, and where the lessons of the perpetuality of change came to rest in my heart.


Before it was The Porterhouse it was the home of some people who found it to be their refuge for a while, and before then my grandparentís home and my place to go to for fun, nourishing, memory building times. I remember at the edge of the woods the old dilapidated skeleton of a car on which I spent many times revving the non-existent motor and steering my dreams in the driverís seat through the surrounding forest. How many times I traveled through that forest in search of the secret that led to the revival of fun and treasure, the conquest of the magic that lived in the trees and underbrush that carried the secrets that were never to be revealed.


How can a memory be lost, how can the magic that lives in the underbrush be swept clean by the flames of today? They cannot! No matter what society says and does, nothing can be lost that claims its place in the ruins of yesterday. Nothing can go unnoticed that was once all there was in oneís life. How can anything that has such a pivotal influence on oneís life be swept away in the flames that reach for the sky and get lost in the clouds that drain away the lost dreams that will never find their way to oblivion? The dreams that stay with us live on and cast themselves into our lives in the ways that they deem right for our time and for the times of the day.


I found the treasures of my grandparents life in the rooms that later fed the many who found their way to The Porterhouse, after my cousin created a tribute to our grandmotherís talent for feeding the ones she loved. It was a beautiful example of what our life stood for in feeding the masses and paying tribute to the sustenance of life. When he realized that he had fulfilled his tribute to our grandparentsí life, he then turned it over to others to express their example of how they read his message and perpetrated it for years to come.


Then came the time for the emergence of a new message. It came time to be able to move out of the old and on into the new. No amount of fire, no scope of flame can put out the light of the truth of family and the lessons learned at the hearth of love. No building, no piece of ground can represent the truth of what is hidden in the ground of love and the ashes of rebirth.


As I sit at this keyboard today, tears escape the corners of my eyes, the remaining vestiges of cleansing sobs that filled me with the release necessary to go on. I remember the swelling of love, expressed in my thoughts of this beauty that is hidden beneath the ashes of yesterday. I do so with the knowledge that never again and never before will there be another Porterhouse, for it went its destined path and served itís destined purpose.


It is for me to show that no matter what life is, it is to live, and through the changes is the salvation of what comes our way. No matter what we endure and no matter what we revel in, it is all bound intricately in the waxing and waning of life. No matter the shades of the moon we will always be given the opportunity for growth through that which has given us our gifts of life and love. We must always go on and live in the movement that is given us, or we shall perish. And to perish is to forget that which we have learned. To forget is to have to do it all again.


No, not me! I have learned, and in that learning I go on and greet life as a new opportunity to incorporate what the Porterhouse has given me. That is the fact that life is full of changes, and if we do not meet those changes then we too become ashes on the ground ready as fertilizer for new growth.


Letís go on in our newfound growth and do so in our own bodies and our own new expression of life on earth and in the heavens, as the same place One in the same.


Thank you dear Spirit/God, Eternal Flame,

Love, Nancy Tate