The Story Behind The Doors

Have you noticed that I have a slight obsession with old doors?

My life, in regards to construction purposes, would be so much simpler if I didn’t.

Standard 36 inch doors are not hard to come by. They meet permitting parameters, they come with a pre-fabricated frame, easily installed. Minimal effort. You know what they don’t have? You guessed it….character. Danny cringes every time I say, “and then I could probably find a warehouse door for this spot.”

Deep down he’s got an appreciation for rehabilitating the “old” as well.

After a warehouse #adventure, I fell in love with the biggest, roughest, dirtiest, most unwanted doors in the place. This was a solo trip and so I had to ask the only employee working that day for some assistance, a lovely gal (her name escapes me, unfortunately).

So I drove carefully into the “yard” for loading.

Ladies and gentlemen, navigating the drive through the yard in a forward position was daunting enough. The realization then hits me…I’m going to have to reverse out of here. Under pressure to prove that I *can* in fact navigate the yard in reverse, with five doors hanging out the back-end, I succeeded in exiting the area with the slowest mph in this warehouse’s history, I’m sure of it.

A record is a record. I’m fine with it.

After transporting these doors to their new home, the rehabilitation began. Usually at night, long after clients have headed home and the salon doors are locked, I’d work on stripping dozens of layers of paint. Once the first layer of paint has been stripped and I’m sweating, I start cursing whomever (asshole) desecrated these doors in the first place.

Once I get in the rhythm though, my mind can’t help but imagine stories of who this person (still an asshole) was. Like, WHY? Just whyyyyy?

I think that’s what it is.

The rehabbed doors that join the old and new space.

I think it’s why I have an obsession with these old doors. While I work so hard to bring these back to life, I have movies playing in my head. I see the time periods (each layer of paint is a testament to those). I see all the hands that have turned those door knobs.

Grooms carrying their brides across the thresholds. New parents bringing baby home from the hospital. A nervous knock on this very door when a young man announces his arrival to pick up his date. Inviting family in for the holidays as the door swings open, with a cheerful, “hello!”

They don’t belong in a warehouse. They are worth rehabilitating.