Excuse me, but your barn door is open
Really, it was. Only I didn’t know about it till much later, months later much to my embarrassment. Apparently it blew off in some fierce wind back in February. In my daily travels, I don’t usually see this part of the barn. But in Pete’s daily travels, he does. And he claims he told me about it, but I sure don’t remember. Maybe I was out to lunch that day in the figurative sense. So the thing blew off, and I only found out when I went in the barn one day about a month or two ago to see how things fared after the big chill let up a little. I thought it kind of funny that a whole lot of light was flooding into the barn. And then I saw the barn door open. It’s a little peculiar that Pete would randomly leave the door open like that. So I meandered over to have a look, and saw…space. No barn door. I looked down. Ah ha! There’s the door. On the ground. Wait, what?!
Thus I discovered what Pete already knew, the barn door was out for the count. During the whole winter. Rest assured, when the weather warmed up Pete and company got that thing back up and in place. This occurred while I was safely at work in front of a non-moving computer surrounded perhaps by fabric swatches and pattern samples. I’m glad for that because when I heard about the big door-raising later, my eyes rolled into the back of my head. It seems there were a few minutes when the door was on the brink of either going up in place, or falling down and flattening Pete. Pancake Pete. That wouldn’t be good. Once again, I’m thankful that he made it through another one of his harrowing moments.
Now that the door is up and spring is really here, I had to go back into the barn for some sprucing up. While I was doing a little floor scraping and sweep duty, I came across an object resting near that once fallen door. It almost looked like a little, vintage toy.
It is in fact, the original barn door runner that must have snapped off and fallen by the wayside. Yet, I still can’t help thinking of it as some little, metal race car. All it needs is a little, metal man plunked in there with knitted brow, clutching the throttle. This I think I shall keep. I don’t know what I’ll do with it but it is mine now. In fact, Pete soaked it in diesel fuel to clean it off for me. Sheesh, I was just going to use a steel brush but okay, diesel fuel is fine too: