The happy step

I have a back doorstep.

We’ve just moved house, and one of the things that pleases me lots is the back doorstep. It’s a very ordinary 2 concrete step doorstep. It’s not fancy, nor is the door, it doesnt look into a huge garden or a beautiful view (though my chickens are lovely), it’s not painted or tiled or padded, but it is a doorstep.

I’ve not had one in the various houses I’ve lived in for most of my adult life, I’ve had side doors and patio doors, and they’ve been fine, but there’s something about a back doorstep…

Some years ago I began to reflect on why it bothered me that I didn’t have a door step, a place to sit, half in, half out the house, with a coffee or a cuppa, in Pj’s or work clothes, alone or with a child. Just sitting.

I wondered why the thought of a doorstep made me happy, peaceful, secure, in a way I couldn’t describe.

I took my doorstep moments where I could, in holiday in a cottage, or a tent (I know, no step but the feeling was the same)

My reflecting led me to remembering, and I remembered doorsteps in other houses.

My earliest memories include sitting on the doorstep with my mum, eating banana sandwiches, sunshine, safety, the anticipation of an afternoon in the garden or listening to stories on the radio – “are you sitting comfortably?… Then I’ll begin”

There was a white painted step at the French windows, wider than the kitchen door, room for two. Banana, white bread, butter and mum. Hot white paint, slightly peeled, bright in the sunshine. Cherry blossom, blue sky. Love.

Later I remember after school afternoons, taking my ice-lolly (homemade obvs) and sitting in the sun before heading upstairs to my cool leaf shaded bedroom to read & read & read.

Then when school finished we would travel north to my grandparents. Granny’s back door overlooked the Firth of Clyde, the concrete ramp was made to accommodate her wheel chair. Her front door was a sitting place too, wide, white & welcoming; the air hung with the smell of the sea, coffee and the intriguing menthol cigarettes she smoked.

Another doorstep radiating love & welcome, security and peace.

It’s no wonder I love my doorstep.

One Response to “The happy step”

  1. tina cooke Says:

    So evocative, Angie! You write so well. I was right there with you on your own doorstep; your Mum’s and then, your Gran’s doorstep. Lovely. Thank you. XXX

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