The Orange Door: a true story
With Halloween creeping our way and orange candy wrappers teasing me every where I look, I am reminded of a story my mom, Bonnie, shared in her memoirs about a house we owned in the seventies (and lost to foreclosure–but that’s another story) in Carson City, Nevada, on Telegraph Street. It had an orange door–an “infamous orange door.”
There was humor in our marriage too, such as the infamous Orange Door on Telegraph Street. I came home from work one day and the door was painted bright orange. I immediately thought, now what the heck? What the heck was he thinking?Because I knew darn well that Dick did it.
So I got in the house, and of course, all the kids were waiting—nobody knew why—and they were waiting for me to tell them why. So I said, “Well I don’t know.” I wondered and wondered what the heck he did it for.
He finally would tell me without being asked.One night when he was drunk, Dick came home and said, “Well at least I can get in the right door now because I painted it.”
So he had painted it orange because evidently he had gone into the wrong house some other night when he was drunk.
I had a good laugh when I read my mom’s story of the orange door. It must have been a maddening moment given it was a brand new house with a brand new door. Humor always came out the winner in these instances, and to be honest, these are the experiences and moments that endear my dad to me.Any funny stories you want to share? Be sure to email me.
Until then, thank you for being you.