© Bruce Goodman 22 August 2019
It wasn’t exactly that Thelma was a procrastinator; it’s just that some things get put on the back burner because they’re not overly important. Such was her intention to get a doorstop at her back door, so that the wind wouldn’t slam the door shut when she was trying to get a bit of a breeze blow through the house on hot summer days.
The opportunity arose. She had always half looked at doorstops for sale in shops but nothing had ever appealed. They were either too plain (such as the cheap triangular rubber ones to squelch under the door to hold it open) or too ornate and gaudy (such as the ones filled with sand and made with coloured fabric that matched nothing else in any house in the world). But when Thelma stepped out of her car at the combined churches annual picnic at the river reserve she thought River Boulder! Doorstop!
It was such a simple idea. There were literally thousands of rocks on the river bed. One surely would be the right size and shape. And indeed! Thelma found it! It wasn’t too big and it wasn’t too small. It was heavy enough to hold the door open, and light enough to easily lift.
How time can fly when one writes fiction! Seven years have passed. For seven summers that doorstop has let the cooling breeze flow through the house. But those seven years were filled with trials and woe. He parents had passed away and her husband was killed in Afghanistan. Thelma had three young mouths to feed. The corner newspaper and magazine shop where she worked had closed. These were dire times. The family had barely enough to eat. Thelma prayed that nothing expensive would go wrong with the house, but of course it did. A sudden wind caught the back door. It was strong enough to slam the door shut despite the boulder. Window glass shattered everywhere.
It was while cleaning up the mess that Thelma noticed that the boulder had been scratched. It was made of gold.