I sat in the corner of my grandpa's old woodenporch as I had so many times before. This was my favorite place to spendsummer days. The wood was dull and smooth from all the time I spent inthat little seat behind Grandpa's rocking chair. As I sat there myimagination would run wild. I could go anywhere, be anything in mycorner. That spot would turn into outer space and I became an astronaut,zooming at light speed, or an adventurer in a dangerous jungle, chasedby ferocious tigers or eaten by gigantic crocodiles. There was nothing Icouldn't do.

Mid-afternoon was my favorite time, when the sun washigh and overcast just enough to cool the air. That was when my grandpa,my brother and I would go into the field in front of Grandpa's porch andplay baseball. How I enjoyed those times when I was younger and Grandpawould pitch. I didn't realize it then, but he always scooted closer whenit was my turn to bat. Then he'd slowly toss a perfect pitch that Icouldn't miss. It made my brother so mad because Grandpa always threwhim sharp curve balls or super-fast knuckle balls that were impossibleto hit. I always thought I was just really good and my brother wasn't.

After playing a few games and getting hot and sweaty, we wouldgo back to the house and sit on the porch, to drink lemonade and listento the hoot owls. I would climb into Grandpa's lap and beg him to tell astory and rock me to sleep. I can still hear him now, "Once upon atime there was a young girl who ..." as I drifted off to sleep. Hewas always so warm and cozy. I loved every minute spent with my grandpaon his old wooden porch.