Doors are the window to the soul.
No, hold on, I think I may have got that a bit wrong.
Nevertheless, it is a generally held philosophy that doors hold meaning in the wider view of life. You know, “when God closes a door, he opens a window”, “doors of opportunity”, all that jazz.
Yep, I’m literally talking about doors; them things with the handles that separate one room from another.
Now, I’m going to hazard a wee guess and say that you probably take doors for granted.
Controversial, I know, but I find it hard to believe that we have a large number of door aficionados following this blog. If I’m wrong, I offer the heartiest of welcome to all those who can’t get enough of the hinges and handles.
I’m getting a little off topic here….
I certainly took doors for granted. I didn’t even give them a second thought. And if I’m honest with you (and, dear reader, I will always be) it’s hard to think of something I cared less about than doors.
That was until I came home one day to find my door gone. Completely vanished. I thought we had fallen victim to one of the most specific robberies of all time.
I marched downstairs, livid, to inform my dear mother of the terrible crime that had befallen us.
There, in the unrelenting sunshine, stood my mother, giver of life, taker of dirty washing, elbow deep in dye, wool covering the most enormous make shift table.
“Mum! We’ve had a crime.”
“Oh, dear daughter? What crime has happened upon you, most beautiful, charming and intelligent of all my children?” *dialogue may be slightly misremembered…
“My door. It’s gone. I have no door. I am doorless. I am effectively living in a barn.”
At this point, my darling ma gestured to this disconcertingly large table in our midst…
Well… At least the aftermath is pretty…
I think the experience has left me more changed – I’m more friendly now.
I mean, come on in, my door is perpetually open.