Open Invitation to Escape

     In my salad days – and what does that mean, anyway?  Now is the time in my life when salads are necessary and appreciated;  when I was young, French fries and a coke could make a meal, never mind the calories. – a common expression was, “Were you born in a barn?”  That meant, “Close the door, you ass.”  Or, perhaps close the gate.
     It’s an expression I don’t hear much anymore.  And I don’t see that the sentiment has rung through to the present generation(s).  Like the meaning of R.S.V.P. and the tradition of gentlemen standing when women enter the room, closing doors and gates after going through them seems to be an old-fashioned concept.
     When it comes to our own gate, I’ve taken to peering out the door as visitors arrive and leave to see if I need to go latch it.  Most of the time when we are home, our chickens are doing their free range thing.  They don’t really understand, “Stay out of the road.”  They depend upon the intelligence of humans.  (Ahem.)
     The church is a problem, as well.  The outer doors are closed but not locked and visitors are welcome.  In the vestibule there is a sign which asks that people to please close the doors as they leave.  Hopeless.   About half of my “exercise program” is walking across the street and closing those doors.
     We leave the thermostat in the church set at 50 degrees in the winter.  That helps to stave off mildew on the wallpaper from icy cold temperatures and humidity.  It works quite well except when those pesky doors are left open.  It’s probably not an accident that we had a $500+ electric bill the month Nyel and I were gone to California.  Since none of the other neighbors can see the outer door from their houses,  it probably stood open day in and day out.  One more reason to hope for warmer weather.
     At Ocean Park School, we once interviewed a teacher candidate who was big on instructing kids to “complete their cycles.”  Turn on the water and then turn it off.  Use the toilet and then flush.  Open a door and then shut it.  But, for my immediate concern, I think I’ll just start calling out to people, “Hey!  Were you born in a barn?”
     And… I looked up “in my salad days” and find that the term comes from the end of Act One of Shakespeare’s  “Anthony and Cleopatra,”  when Cleopatra expresses her regret about youthful dealings with Julius Caesar and says, ‘My salad days, when I was green in judgment.”  So there you are – I’ve completed my cycle!