Come on in

Back when there wasn’t a screen or two in every room providing entertainment, people were glad to see you at their door. They would open the screen, smile, say, “Come on in,” and wave you into the living room. Offers of coffee and tea followed and you were expected to sit and talk a while. Nobody is glad to see anyone at their door anymore.

Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “come on in.”

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Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

6 thoughts on “Come on in”

  1. In our condo the phrase isn’t “Come on in, ” but a loud “The door’s open!” We use it a lot also. But right now the person on the other side of the door has a hard time following through. A few weeks ago there was a cooking accident in which we put ingredients for spaghetti sauce. on the stove to do their thing. A problem. arose insofar as they were on on one burner and a flimsy plastic carafe was on the one that got electrified. You guessed it. While backs were turned, the carafe caught fire, made a lot of smoke, caused a 911-call which summoned a bunch of firemen. The guys did what they’re trained to do when no one immediately answers the door. They begin to force their way in. Now, it’s difficult to open the door; it’s an upper body exercise. Similarly, closing the door isn’t easy. We still call out “The door’s open,” but we make sure it’s possible for the person on the other side to “come on in.”

  2. Somewhere here I’ve written about the warm and welcoming home of my grandparents. I can never express how wonderful it was on Sundays in particular to be hanging out at their multi-family home in their first floor apartment in an ethnic neighborhood. I have never experienced anything like it since. The huge mahogany square table opened up with several extra leaves and was set with sparkling white tablecloth and napkins. The Tiffany lamp over it was always lit and tall tapered candles no matter sunny or rainy day. Aromas wafting from the small kitchen were enticing and mouth-watering. Several bottles of liquor were arranged on the huge buffet which ran along one wall. After church it seemed everyone in the parish and in the neighborhood as well would come to visit. There seemed to be constant knocking at the door leading in from the main hallway and lots of gregarious greetings and cheek kissing. People would come. They would go. More people would arrive. My grandmother never ran out of food, good music, and conviviality. She worked so hard to produce this Sunday bash but never complained. Her happiness was reflected in her beautiful smile and pleasure at having people share her home. “Come on in!” But spoken in broken English or many times in Polish to so many refugee families she had helped after their arrival in the U.S. Just writing about this makes me feel the presence of her love and genuine goodness.

  3. ” Come on in,” said the sweet elderly neighbor. “I just baked cookies and one has your name on it.” Julie wiped the tears from her eyes and pushed back her long blond hair. She walked through the door that was all too familiar to find the comfort of her friend.

  4. Some how she always came to know, before hand , that we are about to pay a visit . In retrospect , I think Baba(my father) rang her up to tell that he is descending on her small flat with his ample brood .

    She stood on the narrow , dimly lit staircase , with a broad grin , and said “come on in .” Then each of us would be hugged , in turns , and commented upon our height and girth , before ascending the steps. Her flat was close to a Britannia biscuit factory . It was redolent with the smell of caramelised sugar , roasted coconut and baking cookies . The factory specialised in “Nice” biscuits ,containing coconut and with a sprinkling of sugar on top . Heavenly !!

    She kept her small red Godrej fridge stocked with pastries and sweetmeats . Lots of delicious aromas arose from her tiny kitchen as she cooked vast amounts of other-worldly chicken curry , fried fish and biryani for us .

    That was the only place on earth we could stuff ourselves silly , and then roll off to sleep on mats in her tiny balconies (she had three of them , each leading from a bed room ).

    I am yet to meet a person residing in such a miniscule flat as hers, but in possession of such a voluminous heart.

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