I also have an emotional relationship with windows. For example, I have used the one over the kitchen sink in my childhood home when my mother had locked me out by mistake; luckily the garage was open and I was able to find a stepladder and clamber up into the kitchen because the sink windows were unlocked. As I crumpled down onto the counter I found the message my mom had left: "The key's in the garage, darling."
I have similarly had to break into a high school, again through no fault of my own! My husband, who is appointment-challenged, was inside the locked building, probably marking, when the dental office had called to alert me that he was MIA. The office staff had gone home and there was no phone access. It is a large building but I finally found an open first-floor window and was able to complete that day's spouse-duty. Over the years, many of the dental staff have become good friends, probably out of pity.
My brother remembers seeing me exit a first floor that way when I saw a construction crew starting their chain saws to fell an ancient maple. It was hopeless, but Scott remembers noticing that I can really run if I'm mad.
Quite aside from their occasional usefulness as doors, in my experience the glory of windows is their ability to "reframe" our glimpse of life through a transparent plane. In fact I have quite a number of digitals which I troll through from time to time, imagining a series of beautiful windows, a series which is yet to be seriously begun. All I have to show for the concept is one older watercolour; it was painted the spring I used hyacinths to fill the window boxes outside the bank of windows in our living room. Their heads lolling, they filled the room for weeks with the glory of their amethyst tones and gladdened my heart without offending my nose.
I must get out my trolling rod and go fishing in my "Paintables - Windows" file.