Some of my fellow bloggers post pictures of beautiful or interesting doors on Thursdays. I’m over here writin about door fail on a Tuesday.
Home improvement bloggers are all, “It’s such a relief to have changed all my doorknobs to oil-rubbed bronze!” and I’m all, “Bitch, you don’t know my pain.”
What can I say, I enjoy not quite fitting in.
Old houses come with quirks. That’s part of their charm.
All of the doors in this house have charm.
All. I’m not exaggerating!
Before we’d really moved in, The Mister and I had been keeping long hours at the house, painting and cleaning. One afternoon, we lay down on our mattress-on-the-floor to take a nap. When I woke up I realized we were locked in our bedroom. IN. As in, the lock is in the hallway!?!
Huh? So we should ask the kids to lock us in when it’s time to sex? Fortunately, The Mister got us out and fixed that right away, but the door still doesn’t make good connection with the jamb. If we don’t lock it, the wind can open it.
A week or so later, we discovered we hadn’t been given all the keys to all the locks. How did we find that out? Well, we got locked out of our own house, that’s how. And not just any ol time, either. No, we found out we were locked out late at night, and we still didn’t have wi-fi, so finding a locksmith was a real struggle.
We got a new locking doorknob on the front door around midnight that night.
Still doesn’t change the fact that the deadbolt is ridiculously hard to turn, or that the storm door is hung opposite the actual door. That’s right, the handles are on opposite sides.
That’s why we often use the back door, where at least the handles agree with one another. Of course, the locks on that door are unbearable to someone with arthritis, and they also turn the wrong way. Or one of them does. I dunno. I struggle. It hurts. I get confused and flustered. Maybe one of them is upside-down, or they’re both upside-down and one is backward. Did I mention it hurts me? Additionally, the tension spring has come off the back storm door, and it’s slightly crooked, so ya gotta kick it — it’s called a kick plate for a reason. Then when it opens, you gotta latch it, or the kitten will run outside. I’m advocating a keyless entry and no storm door.
I’m also in favor of removing our beautiful-but-painful porcelain tile back there, because the door is so flush to the floor, we can’t have a properly-placed rug. Sill the crooked door features a gaping hole in the corner of the frame. It’s great for those days when you need an arctic breeze, or when you want to host a June Bug family reunion.
The pantry doorknob constantly fell out, and I didn’t have a pretty enough screwdriver, so we bought a new doorknob and The Mister replaced it.
About a month after living here, The Mister re-hung the bathroom door and shaved off several crooked slivers from the bottom. It’s so much better. Now it almost opens all the way, and it closes properly. It won’t lock. It gives one the curious impression that it’s locked, but it is never locked. It doesn’t latch properly enough to lock. Talk about a false sense of security! It’s so not latched, that if one of our pets wants to watch you do whatever you’d like to do behind closed doors, you have no choice in the matter.
Door to the master bath has a lock that doesn’t work, either.
It’s a good thing we’re not really a closed-door type of family, especially since most of the time it’s just us girls. We respect closed doors and always knock, but when we do want privacy we often make announcements about it. I’m not even kiddin.
Three-out-of-five sets of sliding closet doors were removed right around the same time, because they didn’t have floor tracks installed to keep them in place and re-hanging them was a bit constant and therefore maddening. Honestly, downright dangerous to Moo, who could easily be injured by heavy falling doors.
Sassy’s door had a crack in the jamb, which I fixed and then The Mister re-fixed, and her lock doesn’t work, either. Additionally, when you open the door, it scrapes across her plush carpet with resistance, because it’s hung a bit low.
Moo’s door has a charming gap under it. Her lock works, of course. Moos love to run to their rooms, slam and lock the door, and cry themselves to sleep before dinner’s done, so that they can wake up at 0430 and try to nap as their sisters get up for school.
The hallway closet also has a large gap under it, which is where the wood floor stops abruptly, with much ugly.
The laundry door features the same gap, and is a bit tricky to close. Gotta give it a bit of a slam. This isn’t hard for me as I’m often eager to release some anger when dealing with laundry, cat boxes, the furnace…
In the kitchen, we have a broom closet, and it works properly. Okay, it swells noticeably in the summer, but wood does that, and a lil soap on the edges helps. The cute thing about the broom closet is that it locks from the outside. You know, in case you’ve got one of those brooms or mops that like to sneak out at night and work without you. A girl can dream.
Even our garage doors have charm. By charm, I mean, they need to be replaced.
Hey! I think the shed doors are good!
We’ll probably live with these charming quirks for years to come. We probably won’t ever replace the doors in the back hallway. They’re old, solid wood beauties.
Do you find some quirks more annoying than charming, too? Do y’all have door issues? What home projects are lowest on your list?