Window Pains

‘Research in brain development reveals that windows of opportunity, known as sensitive periods, are crucial for learning certain skills and environmental experiences’

That window of opportunity is wide open until the child is five. Ramming in stuff to ‘shape the trajectory of a child’s holistic development can build a foundation for their future’.

I should have known. My father was on the rob by the time he was seven.
His windows were well and truly shuttered. Aged 18 he still didn’t know the alphabet. My mother, on the other hand, had plenty of open casements. Poor, but bright she ended up teaching my father to read. A difficult task if your window of opportunity has been slammed shut

I was introduced to the piano when I was four and a half, opportunities abounded.
Nowadays our children mainly see through the window of a smart phone.

Reading at the right time, maths, at the right time=. Catch the kids when they are weeny and we stand a chance of creating children who are fluent and can add up a bar bill in their head. I didn’t say make them sit exams, just give them the opportunity to explore the world of knowledge.

One of my schools had a hall surrounded by floor to ceiling windows. Hot in the summer. bright in the winter, When it was muggy the windows were opened. Bright light flooded in.
Singing hymns whilst staring out onto grass, flowers, and a future was a divine experience.

The importance of windows is political.

‘Window tax was a property tax based on the number of windows in a house. It was a significant social, cultural, and architectural force in England, Scotland, France and Ireland during the 18th and 19th centuries. To avoid the tax, some houses from the period can be seen to have bricked-up window-spaces.’
The charges of the Light brigade, and the gas brigade and the water and electricity brigades. The exploitation by the powerful, for the powerful. If we’re not careful they’ll be charging for air next.

‘Light belongs to our house. Eat cake and burn your candles.’

When children draw houses they always put four windows in. There are 17 different types they can choose from but its usually four big square windows, two on the top and two either side of the front door. A house of simple security. Windows to let light in and smells out, windows to show off your Christmas tree.
Windows display an interior life. Who doesn’t like to look into an illuminated sitting room at night to see how the other folk live.
The eyes are considered the windows of the soul. Expessing feelings that can only been seen not heard. I’ve long since wondered what kind of soul is revealed if you’ve got cataracts.

We had a neighbour, a strange boy who surprised the community with his antics. We lived opposite the 358 bus route. When the passengers filed past our house CB would stand at his bedroom window, get his todger out and waggle it at the unsuspecting travellers. His father was a councillor and a pillar of the community.
As a child I was feisty. Played ball games with my brother, we were latchkey kids. I tried to serve an Ace in the garden and sent the ball through the downstairs window. Surprisingly we never got reprimanded, My mother must have felt guilty not being there.
Our window cleaner came yesterday, He counted the windows and charged £25 to hose and squeegee them. I can remember my mother using newspaper and vinegar.

We have a window on our front door, which is actually our back door but we use it as a front door. Our kitchen is light and airy. We also have a skylight. Full of bees in the summer and leaves in the autumn.
One of the first things we did when we moved in was build a proper attic. Four windows stretching across the wall. Facing North, North East. After sunrise the sun blazes in uninvited. Our bedroom is on the other side of the house. The window opens out onto the front garden. Wisteria has weaved its way into the room, on account of the window being open in all weathers. Throughout the year, muggy or wet, windy or dry, the window affords us fresh air. It is the cause of heated arguments as the man from the North would rather be sleeping in a sarcophagus.

Roald Dahl famously walked to the end of his garden and ensconced himself in his tiny shed. A thermos flask, a lunch box and a head full of ideas. The shed had no windows, he didn’t want any distraction.
The dawter lived in a fancy warehouse in Hackney. Very trendy, very expensive. She left after a few months because the room had no windows. The landlord was prepared to charge a fortune for a prison cell.

I always wanted a bay window with a window seat fancying myself as a lady of substance. Sitting by the window writing a tragic memoir. We only have small sills.
French windows, thrown open onto a garden is a delight. I had a friend who lived next to a canal, she would fling open the French doors, and feed the swans. The woodwork was painted yellow. Her mother was a head teacher and her father a drunk.
I’d never met well heeled gentry before. When I was invited to tea. I thought I should dress for the part. I bought an Edwardian type dress, William Morris print with a high collar and a voluminous skirt. I looked like an extra from Downton Abbey. White tights and dainty Mary Jane shoes completed the outfit. I was ushered through the French windows into the garden and sat timidly, remembering to close my legs. The hostess, balancing a tray, carrying a pot of Earl Grey tea and fancy biscuits, glided out of the French doors. The swans floated by as I wiped the crumbs away with a lacy napkin.,

I’m too old now for a conservatory, I always wanted a Victorian style jobby with a fancy metal roof. I wanted a black and white tiled floor to put my piano on and window sills filled with purple plumbego.
That’s when we were loaded and dreams could be funded. Sadly we don’t have disposable income anymore, so you could say I missed the window of opportunity.