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When my family visited my maternal grandmother in the spring and autumn months we sat on outside on her screen porch before the onset of sweltering Louisiana summers. The view of her front yard from the porch was intoxicating. You felt as if you were sitting inside a bouquet of untouched flowers beneath a pristine airy sky.
Her house was in the center of three acres of land surrounded by azalea bushes, petunias, and moss sheltered trees; a yard my siblings and I couldn’t resist playing in for hours.
The front porch had two front doors, one for humans and a door my grandmother had built in place of a bottom screen window for her beloved German shepherd, “Sam,” whose door remained swinging from its hinges after Sam's death. I loved to enter the porch through Sam’s door and of course, play with it although my grandmother prohibited it.
Sam’s door was built for Sam and when a hinge broke or the wood cracked, she would have it repaired, but she never removed the door.
Sam’s door was built for Sam and when a hinge broke or the wood cracked, she would have it repaired, but she never removed the door.
Both of the front screen doors had their own stories and secrets, if only doors could talk. For example, my brothers and I could judge the mood of the “grown-ups” in our family by the way they closed the screen door on their way in or out, so again, both porch doors played a role in our family and both doors exhibited their own character.
For example, there was an art to closing the front porch door, it didn’t close easily, so if you didn’t pull the knob gently, it would bounce against the door frame, which infuriated my grandmother, but if you didn't pull the door knob hard enough it wouldn't close at all.
So, of course, I pulled the door too hard one day and it ricocheted against the frame then stopped leaving the door open about six inches. The house grew silent and I stood as straight as a soldier anticipating the expression on my grandmothers’ face. Her hazel eyes met mine, and she said,
“Ann, I can see you were in a hurry, but you left the door open again, now go and close it.”
My brothers and I called my grandmother, “Nana,” so I said,
“Nana, why do you get mad when we pull the knob on the porch door too hard, and it doesn’t close, the door doesn't open into the house, just to the outside porch?”
I watched her eyes while she searched her mind for an answer, then, she looked at me with a perplexed look, as if she was asking herself the same question. Then she smiled and said,
“Because it lets the air out. “
I’ve often wondered what she was thinking before she answered me and I'd like to believe she was thinking of her yard. Perhaps, she didn’t want the air inside the porch to blend with her Azalea bushes, moss sheltered trees and bouquet of untouched flowers beneath a perfect pristine sky.
Although, I think the truth is, she didn't want to ruin a perfect day, and was probably relieved that I didn't break the front porch door, a fact that never occurred to me when I was a child. In fact, now, I also understand why we weren't allowed to play with Sam's door and why it took her so long to answer my question, in addition to why her answer didn't make any sense.
Thank you for reading and for stopping by A Nice Place In The Sun. I hate to miss Aww...Monday's a weekly meme from my friend Sandee's blog, Comedy Plus, but I've been thinking about my grandmother lately, then last night I thought of her and the porch doors in the middle of the night, and I just had to write it down. But, I will certainly return to Aww...Monday's next week and I encourage you to stop by Comedy Plus and link up to Aww...Monday's link list, it's a lot of fun.
Have a fabulous day and a great week. And again, thanks for visiting. :))
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