The Family Room. For Mary.

You put up with it because as tiresome as it is, and as they can sometimes be, somewhere there, there's always love. He may take interest in something to be repaired that's mechanical; and there's cars to wash and clean, hobby things to sort and tidy. Some kids are good or disciplined; but there's never quite the time in their expanding world for doing just what you do for the house.. But in the human heart there's this locked, dusty room - you haven't dared to look inside for years - or indeed since childhood, for some people - full of junk, of cobwebs, broken windows, their sashes jammed, cupboards that won't open, drawers whose contents stop them opening; even the birds have stopped their nesting there; a room of memories that whisper when it's dark It's the room that's family. And surprise - the light still works.. A family can sort and dust and wash and clean and tidy it in less time than they take to slam the door yet only you know that it's done, and how it's done. And you say nothing. Somewhere, two strangers smile at one another