I have always had a great love for old doors. They appear so whimsical, so literary, in their quiet stature. Where do they lead? Where have they been? What is beyond them? What adventures will the doors lead us on?
My first door purchase was at an antique store in Texas. Doug insisted we drive the smaller car there and after much embarrassing time trying to cram the white vintage screen door into the backseat I had to sheepishly drag it back in for a refund in front of the sign that read, “No refunds.”
That Christmas Doug gave me a gift certificate to an antique store he had done work at and I picked out a lovely old turquoise door. It was sage green on the other side and had its original door knob. So lovely and sweet, I wondered whose children might have run through it, what visitors knocked on this door, what old house held it firm to its frame? It represented another world to me and it made a stunning decorating piece in each of our houses. Until we had to leave the last house.
At our farmhouse in Kiowa I found a tattered old green screen door that suffered from years of banging shut. It joined the living room too. These doors speak to me.
So, I suppose it wasn’t a surprise when I asked Emily’s boyfriend to help Doug (who I alerted at the last moment) drag two very heavy doors up to the third floor to my apartment. I loaded them into the back of my truck after a gardening client said she wasn’t using them in her remodel. Pulling into an apartment building with salvaged antique doors is a bit contradictive, but I danced around the truck excitedly as the men pulled out my new doors. My new adventures. The doors that could lead anywhere…