The morning was as silent as a butterfly’s wing.
I opened the front door to the golden silence of early morning. A fog has settled in over the night so the entire scene seemed clothed in gauze.
Isn’t having a front door one of the more delicious pleasures of owning a home? I open the door each morning that weather permits and look at my American flag, so still in this hour, and might hear the early birds chirping to one another.
At night before I retire, I open my front door to see the quiet once again. My neighbors are all home and I can proclaim the day a success. When I visit nursing homes with all their constant noise and confusions, I thank God I have my own home and my own front door. And even in my prayers of gratitude, I ask that I never have to end life in one of those horrid places. Whether you pay $1,000 a month, or 10 times, they are all the same: Crowded, confusing, and a cacophony of misery.
Doors date back to the ancient Egyptians. There are paintings which serve as historical records of door architecture. The climate in Egypt was hot and dry enough so there was not any fear of warping. Doors were first fashioned of slabs of wood on hinges. Other records include King Solomon’s temple doors. They were made of olive wood.
When I travel I take photos of interesting front doors. Photos of the pretty ones and images of those with cascading flowers. There is just something about a front door that makes me wonder what kind of family lives there. Do they employ a cook or nanny? A store front door that is inviting and interesting makes me want to enter and see what the inside looks like. Has someone swept the pavement of leaves or debris? Does it look hospitable?
When I go to a restaurant is the front door entrance clean and beautiful similar Basil’s Restaurant? Or it litter-filled and filthy similar to Steak ’n Shake? Are the windows clean and clear? Is the menu posted? The Mon Ami Gabi French Bistro in Oak Brook has a lovely entrance with many flowers and a patio for outdoor seating. It entices you inside to a delicious repast of salmon, vegetables, and French bread right out of the ovens. They advertise “Lunch done right.”
When I moved into my home 21 years ago, there was no screen/storm door, which I remedied right away and had that installed. I like to have the door open so the breeze and the birdsong filters into the living room. I read in peace with only nature’s sounds about me. Or Mozart.
Then we had no children in the neighborhood because it was mostly retired persons. Almost no dogs, either. Now, of course, the young couples have children and, unfortunately, noisy untrained, dogs. And their dog deposits are not always picked up by the owners. Quite a nuisance.
My neighborhood now is quiet and I thank God for that daily. Visitors remark about the quiet and I reply, “Yes, isn’t it wonderful?” The lawn crew does an excellent job and since I have told them to take as many apples from my trees as they wish, I see them standing on the lawn, eating my apples. Some stuff their pockets with apples. It pleases me to see their enjoyment.
Neighborhoods have a presence and it all tells a story of what values are present and how their lives are lived. The old Aurora neighborhoods along Downer Place and Gladstone Avenue have tall trees and beautiful boulevards. Stately homes and painted front doors. There is no dereliction of duty there. Grass is mowed and snow is removed and the neighborhood looks prosperous and inviting. When a neighbor paints a front door a beautiful blue or shocking red, it sparks the interest right away. “Come on in” it says, and welcome.