door sounds - originally published 03 aug 04

I was e-mailing my brother today about reminiscences about our grandmother. I was thinking about how I'll never forget the smell of each of my grandparents' homes, but what is almost more vivid to me is the sound of each front door opening and closing. Let me explain.

Each set of grandparents built a new home in the 1950s, in different small towns in Texas: one in the Panhandle, and one on the Gulf Coast. Naturally, with four kids, two adults and the occasional dog, we'd drive wherever we needed to go, to visit relatives. And, man, if you haven't looked at a map recently, Texas is a BIG state. Especially on summer vacations in the late 1960s with little or no air conditioning in the car.

My mom's folks, on the Gulf Coast, had a large door with the knob mounted smack dab in the center of the door. The door was set next to glass bricks, and my grandparents had hung a set of bells on the inside door handle. The door opened with a "fwoosh-clunk-tinkle-clunk"--the sound of the bells hitting the door was louder than the sound of the bells actually ringing. Even as an adult, I had to push the door hard because of the non-ergonomic knob placement. As soon as the door opened, the smell of the house wafted out: soap, must, and a hundred and fifty three years of living.

Both houses were built in a time when people didn't believe fresh air was good for you. My father's parents' home was hermetically sealed from the West Texas dust; I'm sure a window was never opened in any room in that home, for fear the wind and the dirt would erode away their belongings. When we finally cleaned out the house before it was sold, we noted that every window was painted shut. The front door had a storm screen that had a smooth metallic spring sound when opened, and the front door made a "sha-wee...shoomp" sound when it opened and closed.

I don't know why I remember the sounds so distinctly. It must be because the opening of the door was the culmination of the anticipation of the visit; the last act before you could see your grandparents, finally, after a long, hot, stuffy and incredibly cramped drive from across the state.