A Road Less Travelled

When we moved in my door fell off its hinges. Gabrielle had already suspected the door of not liking her, and it was being difficult every time she walked into the room. By bedtime that night it had completely separated from the door frame. Perhaps it mistook Gabrielle for me (as seems to happen to us a lot) and was attempting to make her life more difficult. For a few days I carried the door into the bathroom hallway during the day, and put it back at night. This was an amusing routine–yep, it’s time for bed, I’d better go get my door–but tedious. I soon mastered the skill of leaning it at an angle which allowed for easy access, then sliding it over and tugging it into place for more privacy. One night I must have tugged it a bit too far, for its precarious balance gave way with a crash at about six o’clock the next morning. James was the only one coherent enough to actually deal with it at that time. Theresa checked the hallway for damaged children and went back to bed. I rolled over, saw the door, and decided I didn’t care enough to go put it back. There was talk of fixing my door, even of making this repair a priority. Somehow this never achieved more than a ’someday’ status in my mind. Sure, they’d fix the door sometime, but for now I’d just lean it against the door frame. No big deal. Then today James fixed my door. James fixed my door! I have a door again. It actually opens. More importantly it actually closes. Given the severity of the problem with the door frame it may only be a temporary fix–but if I’m careful with it and forbid children from swinging on it, it could hold. Excuse me while I go bask in the luxury of having a door. Look, it opens…and closes…and opens…