. . . open the blue door

. . . have I ever mentioned that my house has no front door?

The door that looks like a front door, acts like a front door, is called the Front Door, is in fact on the back of the house.

It’s the door closest to the kitchen – furthest from the driveway — what in any reasonable house would be the Back Door.

Before I realized what was so nigglingly wrong with this house – i.e. that there was no real front to it, that it was always turning its back on you no matter how you circled to approach it – before I took steps to more clearly signal — by fiat if not in facto — which door was “Front Door” – people never knew where to come.  They’d knock at the laundry door or come to the sliding glass door downstairs instead.

Are we surprised that I live in a backward and resistant house? . . .

[keep reading “another new premise“]


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