As I write this a pleasant young guy is installing a new garage door for our home. The old door is a relic…an original…near sixty years old. When we purchased the house in the mid-80’s it wore a peeling coat of the deep gold paint so popular in the 70’s. On top of being decrepit, the old wooden door is heavy, I’ve developed some muscle over the years lifting it up and down.
When my youngest son graduated high school, twenty years ago, (how can that be true?) a despicable chipmunk chewed through one of the panels to reach the birdseed stored inside. He left a gaping three inch hole. My husband said it couldn’t be fixed. I wasn’t happy about a hole in my garage door right before a graduation party.
I fixed that hole with a piece of cardboard and liquid nails and gave the door another coat of paint. My husband said the patch would never hold. It has held for twenty years. Every time I gloat about my handyman ability I realize I am also paying for my repair prowess…we have kept that peeling monstrosity twenty years longer than we should have; we would have replaced the door two decades ago if the hole had remained.
The new garage door…Hurrah! Once the woodwork around it is capped the whole front of the house will have had quite a facelift.
This post is part of Norm’s Thursday Doors.