Friday, March 6, 2009
The Red Door
At one time this was a happening place. A gas station back in the day of full service, when 3 cute guys would come out at the ring of a bell and service your car before you and your family went down the turnpike to the beach for the day. Old men would go there and sit on their haunches and spit tobacco while talking to the owner about what was happening in their small town, they would talk about things like who won at bridge, who came over for dinner on Sunday, and how their grandkids were getting up there in age, soon being going off to that Bible college. The owner and his family prospered from this full service station. They prospered enough to have a big house that his wife polished every wood thing in it on a daily basis and cooked full meals from recipes handed down to her from her mom and mother in law. They ate meatloaf once a week and thought it was a sin that such a thing as TV dinners were invented and her peach pie was the best in 3 counties and had 2 blue ribbons to prove it. She hemmed clothes while watching their TV and mended socks. She even needlepointed their pillowcases and lovingly ironed everything in their house. She smoked cigarettes and drank vodka when no one was looking. Then one day she was gone, no one ever knew where she went or what happened to her. Rumors were that she ran off with a young man but in truth she ran off with her sisiter in law. Her husband stopped watching the full service garage, their children moved from town when the garage stoppped bringing in money, the woman was happy somewhere on the East Coast with her sister in law. The man drank himself to death and the garage became what it is now, just a red door in the midwest. But the woman, well she never mended another sock again in her life.
(OK that wasn't a true story but I like making things up to my sisters pictures. I call it a sisterly picture challenge.)