Painted Door Love...

Since I was a little girl, I've had a love...

for old,

wooden,

painted doors. 

I think it's because...

my grandmother use to have one. It was painted green and connected her shed to her kitchen.  Memere was, to put it nicely, a clean freak.  Everything was simple in her house, it was always spotless,  and everything had a place.  Nothing moved from the spot it was put in.  EVER.  Well only to be cleaned that is.

Each time anyone went for a visit she would always say, "Ah, don't bother to take your shoes off."  But you knew she didn't really mean it.  :)

I remember in the dead of a Maine winter, seeing her stick her head out the shed door, just to sneak a few puffs of her cigarette. Always so careful to blow every bit of smoke into the shed, not the kitchen.  She never smoked the whole thing at once, she rationed it like it was a precious gift, only to be enjoyed sparingly.

Living upstairs from her meant that we were all, (my six siblings, mom and dad), suppose to pretend that we never saw cigarette smoke coming from the barely opened crack in the shed door.

Because after all, Memere had a pacemaker for years, and she wasn't allowed to smoke... according to her heart doctor.  And she didn't.  According to her.

My grandmother died in her sleep, peacefully, about 20 years ago now.  When her house was bought, before it was completely remodeled, I was able to bring her shed door to my home, where it now stands in the corner of the dinning room. I consider it one of my dearest treasures.

It brings me back to my childhood on King Street, and my grandmother.

It's all good.

Hugs From My Heart