Welcome to Frankie’s Front Porch — a space shaped by culture, community, and the quiet wisdom that rises when we sit together. Here, every story matters, every voice is honored, and every soul has a warm seat. Pull up a chair, settle in, and let’s reflect, connect, and grow.
My love for front‑porch conversations began when I was a young girl. Some of the most meaningful talks I ever had were with my mother, on our porch. I replay those moments often and wonder what our conversations would have become had she lived beyond my nineteenth year. She told me, time and time again, that I could do anything I set my mind to. When I decided to retire from Girl Scouts of the USA, after a fulfilling career in youth service administration, I replayed her words. I had done the work. I had built programs that mattered. I wanted to leave on top.
During that career, one of my proudest moments was being invited to meet Olga Goizueta, wife of Coca‑Cola Co. Chairman and CEO Roberto Goizueta. I requested a half‑million‑dollar grant to support Hispanic Girl Scouts in Atlanta — and she granted me $750,000. I remember thinking, it can’t get any better than this. But then I met Ingrid Saunders-Jones, chair of the Global Coca‑Cola Foundation. From the moment she stepped off the foundation’s private jet, I was in awe. Later conversations left me even more “awe‑a‑fied.” She wasn’t just a sister — she was a Sistah. Meeting those two powerhouses, women of color who shaped global philanthropy, felt like the final jewels in my Girl Scout crown. I thought, Mom was right. I did what I wanted to do. I helped thousands of girls of color grow into women who now lead, serve, and shine in their communities. But after retirement, restlessness set in.
I left Atlanta — a city I loved — and returned home to North Omaha. I began volunteering at the Omaha Star, where Dr. Marguerita Washington was fighting to keep the paper alive in a rapidly digitizing industry. My outreach spirit found new purpose there. I sat in on a call with the National Newspaper Publishers Association, Trayvon Martin’s parents, and their attorney, Ben Crump. When his father described seeing his “pride and joy” lying on a slab, I knew the people’s paper had to respond. I organized a candlelight vigil. The Omaha Star responded — and thousands filled Benson Park with prayers and condolences. But still I was restless.
Later, on behalf of the Star, I accepted a GoFundMe challenge to take young people to see Marvel’s Black Panther. Our campaign succeeded! We took 225 youth and 25 adult chaperones to make history on opening weekend. Still, I was restless.
My friends and I formed the Husker Swag Crew and threw outrageous football parties. But the restlessness remained. Then those friends began to die, and each loss took a piece of me with it. I selfishly wondered why God was punishing me. My restlessness slowly turned into loneliness.
Recently, one evening, sitting on my front porch with my son, I told him I was lonely. He was stunned. “How can you be lonely with all these people in and out of the house?” he asked. I told him, “They’re not my friends. They’re my loved ones — my nieces, nephews, mentees, friends’ children checking on me because that’s what their mom/dad would want them to do, your friends who call me Mom because they love you. I’m not ungrateful. I’m lonely.”
And in that moment — on the front porch, with the sun going down — the purpose for Soul‑to‑Soul rose up.
Soul‑to‑Soul is for all the lonely people, whether their homes are full or quiet. Its name comes from the Temptations’ song Soul‑to‑Soul, whose opening lines capture the heart of our mission: “Piece of newspaper at my feet, we go blo win’ down the street. Got our stories old and new. Need someone to tell them to.”
I’m no longer restless.