Open House

"We don't like doors much, do we, Bertie?"

"Dear heart, I can't really talk. I've got so much work to get done if we're going to take the next two days for Christmas."

Little Mac stood outside his wife's sewing room, looking down at the shadow cast by the gauzy curtain that was all that divided her room from the rest of the house.

"Because doors make the house smaller," said Little Mac. "Because they chop it up in little pieces. I remember all that. But we do like curtains. Because they help you handle space without closing it off. Because they let the air flow. Yes."

This time the hum of Big Bertha's machine was all the answer he got.

"Warmer in winter," he went on, nodding his head in affirmation to himself, "'cause the heat can get round. Cooler in summer when we open the windows and let the ocean breeze blow through. Fresher too."

He could see her through the curtains, bent to her business under a table lamp placed close. His heart jumped at this slightly occluded image of her vastness and steadfastness. She was ever all business or all pleasure. Never was a more complete companion! He could not stop the words from flowing. He wanted so to give her everything and knew he had so little left.

"But have we talked about the light? Must have. I always talk about the light. And doors, well, Bertie, doors couldn't care less about light. It takes the right curtain where light is concerned. The right curtain, it makes love with the light. The right curtain, Bertie, is the light's best friend. I'm sorry. You don't have to answer. I just had to let you know."

Big Bertha's foot came off the pedal and the humming stopped. "All right, my little love light," said the long-time wife of Little Mac. "I guess I better make time. Come on in."

23 December 2017
Texas Jim
Prospect, Nova Scotia
www.granitecoast.ca