Day 14: Doorways

This is what I see from my front doorway. Only, I nearly didn't see it at all.

I've spent this past week scrutinizing doorways like never before (and one hopes, never again.)

Turns out, I own 23 of them.

On Day 7 of this theme, there's not much I don't know about these swingers (ahem, doorways).

For example.

11 are white
6 are brown
4 are metal
One is gray
One is a darling pink
4 have glass panes
3 are garage doors
2 are barn doors
12 are solid wood
11 are painted
13 have doorknobs
2 have deadbolts
2 have latches

I've inspected. Scrutinized. Examined.

I know the texture of their wood. The way they fall open and shut. How they look in morning light. How they look with rivulets of rain water channeling their way to the ground.

I know these doors.

So on the final day of this theme it seemed to me The Front Door deserved its place in the spotlight. After all, this door has great character. It's old, possibly over 100 years. It has glass panes. A curious old keyhole. A vintage handle. There is much for making fanfare.

But oh how I wrestled and wrangled with this doorway as it insisted upon, from every angle, being remarkably...unremarkable. It just looked like a door.

And so, after 30 minutes and an equally numerous torrent of mental curse words, I turned in defeated exasperation, plopped down in a rocking chair, looked up and saw...

this.

It seems this particular doorway, the one you'll never see, has this to say:

Sometimes the better view is not where you're looking. It's not found in intently focusing on how you want something to be, or in obsessively examining and scrutinizing the details.

Sometimes, the more worthy view is the view from there, the view you see when you are simply willing to turn around.

And so in the end it appears that the oldest door of all is also the wisest.

Day 13: Doorways

A twofer!

What makes this photo the teeniest bit interesting is the doorway you don't see and the effect of its brilliance beaming through and making common things, well, alive. There are such moments in real life too, when someone or something bursts through your own proverbial doorway and suddenly things ordinary and drab are bathed in splendor...where even the simple white boxes stuffed in dusty corners of your own hidden life are illuminated and regarded with curiosity and wonder.

Day 12: Doorways

On the other side of this door is one of my very favorite things in the whole wide world. Someday, I will post it.

Day 11: Doorways

Here's my theory: the woman who lived here before me hated the ugly barn-shed as much as me so she slapped up a pink door on the inside to make things a bit more pleasant. She and I, we woulda been friends.

Day 10: Doorways

This photo is all about my introduction to an old fashioned cherry pitter and my subsequent fascination with baking a cobbler and missing my dad fiercely.

Turns out this photo gig is, by no calculated choice of my own, making me more neighborly. Because when you stand in your yard in full view of your neighbors taking photos of toes and doorknobs and mailboxes, they just can't help themselves. It's a bit like dangling a steak in front of a dog. They come over.

So tonight's photo of my mailbox (and note: it is a door albeit a rather small one) brought the other neighbor calling, the one to the south. This one however came with less concern for my sanity and instead brought wild cherries.

One simply cannot anticipate such things.

An hour later I'm back home with a bowl full of freshly pitted wild cherries and diligently searching for a cobbler recipe. Which makes me weepy for my dad because he loves cobbler more than anything in the entire world including me. I learned from a young age I couldn't compete with his passion for things bubbly and berry-laden so I made the astute decision to become his cobbler provider, his Dealer of sorts of warm flaky fruity concoctions. This way I could channel that predictable stream of lavish adoration and praise my way. And it worked- I grew up feeling loved and valued and into the confident productive adult I am today.

And so I owe a lot to the cobbler.

Day 9: Doorways

I can't recall the last time I talked with our neighbor to the north. Until today that is, when he happened upon me while (to the uninformed observer) I appear to be obsessively photographing my toes. Who knows how long he was stealthily lurking before I sensed his bewildered aura. Now as a relatively new neighbor one strives to make a moderately good impression. In an effort to relieve any fretting regarding my sanity, I assured him that my toes weren't truly my main subject: it was the door I was photographing. This revelation seemed to have little effect in lessening the confusion. All I can say is I'm grateful for insider information that he once held an exorcism on his very own next door property to rid the place of ghosts and spirits. Given that tidbit I think I can safely throw the cuckoo moniker on his side of the fence. Though, he's likely now convinced he only succeeded in chasing Creepy down one doorway to the south. What fun one could have living up to that belief!

Day 8: Doorways

New theme for the week: doors! And not just any old doors but doors on our property. Doors I own. My doors. Doors I adore even. Hah, get it- a door?

Anyway.

So this door is in our barn-shed thing. A metal shed, really. As a barn lover it truly pains me to call it a barn because it's just an ugly old (barn sized) metal shed. Not worthy at all though of being honored as a nostalgicallyenchantingamazingromantic barn. But the problem is we have another shed so things get all confused around here when we call this thing a shed too. Hence, "the barn-shed." Around here it makes sense.

Anyway. It has a cool door. That's the point.