The doorbell rang. And rang. And rang.

            Norah attempted to ignore the sound, sure that it was some type of door-to-door salesperson. She hated them. Well, felt sorry for them as they were just trying to earn enough money to pay rent. Or buy a car. Or get something to eat. She believed that most were being taken advantage of, were being used, or abused and no way would she support the company behind the racket.

            The ringing turned to knocking. Then pounding.

            With a huff, Norah tossed her knitting on the table next to her chair and strode to the door. Yanked it open, prepared to lecture the knocker.

            When she saw the smiling faces, Norah’s lit up in return. Her arms, of their own accord, spread wide open and her words called them to snuggle inside.

            “Happy birthday, Grandma!”