Garage Banned

When I was a kid my dad had a garage built at our house on Ravinia Drive. It took them two days. One to pour the concrete pad and one to build the garage on that pad. I remember that my dad was not home when they finished, but he had left the money to pay for it with my mom. I stood there wide eyed as she counted out the seven, one hundred dollar bills, and handed it over to the man in charge. That was probably two months pay for my dad at the time. That garage was great, we loved it because now we didn't have to drag our bicycles down into the basement. Dad loved it too, except for one thing. The door rails were too low. Dad was about six foot, three inches tall and almost every day he would walk into the sharp end of those things and slice his head open. Dad had a nearly permanent scab on the top of his head for years.

Speaking of garages, I really like my "new" garage. The last time I had a garage to pull my car into was in 1978. That garage was a rickety old thing, but I was able to fit my 1955 Studebaker and a 19 foot sailboat inside. The garage that came with our new home is a little bit newer than that. Maybe built around sixty years ago, our garage has one feature that I love. An electric door opener. I know, to some of you that is the norm, but it is completely new to me. I do have one problem with the electric door opener, closing it. Oh, it closes just fine. What happens is when I am out on the road I start thinking, 'Did I close that door? Did I hit that button and close it?' The answer is yes, I did close the door. I have never forgotten to close it. So why do I have this feeling every single time I leave the house? I wish I could just get it out of my head. That, and the nagging feeling that I might have left one of the dogs out in the yard.