Windows

I take some things for granted, such as my husband, that I can buy groceries other than what’s on sale, and that my hair is coming in silver rather than falling out.

I also take for granted windows. Have you ever been in a windowless room? It’s claustrophobic, stuffy, stultifying. Without windows, we cannot look out. Without windows we cannot see in. Windows offer more than a view or a snoopy high. What we witness can create memories and elicit strong emotions.

   Looking Out:

As a child, I stood like a sentry beside the window watching for my grandparents’ truck to roll into the driveway. Their yearly visits were much anticipated, not just because they brought us gifts and good things to eat, but because they would have died for us. Their love was that palpable.

I recall the ennui that came, while gazing out the window, when I was ill with tonsilitis. I’d spy on classmates running for track practice or riding bicycles and popping wheelies. Tears ran down my cheeks as I rested my head on the cool glass to calm my fever. The lump in my throat was accentuated by the raw sandpaper pain that occurred with each swallow. Once a fly buzzed with frustration, trying so hard to escape to the outside. Just like me.

On fierce winter days my imagination carried me beyond the windows iced with frost. Crystalline ferns and trees blurred the outside world, and I imagined fairy lands where magical creatures lived. With a warm, yearning exhale, that mystical world all too often melted into reality.

And yet on any warm day, a window with curtains wafting in the breeze catches my fancy. Especially when accompanied by the scent of fresh cut grass or Grandma’s lily of the valley.

When raindrops pitter patter, I roll over and catch a few more winks, or make the perfect cup of tea.

   Seeing In:

Along with my confession of taking things for granted, I must confess that when I walk through neighborhoods, warm lamplight in the window, a box of red geraniums, the faint whisper of piano music, the clatter of dishes, or a baby’s cry prompt me to peep in with curiosity. Windows allow us to witness the rituals that make us human.

Windows are also a metaphor. The eyes are the windows of the soul. Looking into another’s eyes reveals their dreams, their hurt, their loneliness, their joy. My eyes tell you about me, even those things I may not be brave enough to share.

I am a fan of windows.