My husband and I went antique shopping today. I bought some pretty presents for relatives. And I could not resist something that peeked out at me from behind many layers of old petticoats…
It was an old door. It was once pink, but the years had not been kind to it. It was love at first sight. I told my husband we must get it. He sighed heavily. We bought the door. I owe him… But then we got home and he agrees it is fantastic. We will mount it on a wall in our hallway. Our hallway is covered in paintings. We will then hang the paintings on the door. I can always see things in my head the way they are going to be. Not the future, but the way a room will look finished…where something should go. It is a trait I accept graciously from my father.
It happened to fit perfectly in our car. I knew it would…
Just sayin’.
I made up stories about the door all the way home. My husband was so happy. I mean what guy doesn’t want an old pink door? And what guy does not want to hear contrived history about said door while driving his batty wife home?
I am a gift, I tell ya. A gift.
I believe it must have been an old victorian door. I know the lady who purchases antiques for the shop just came back with a haul from Iowa. Iowa? Nah, this door never lived in Iowa. It was definitely a door to a rambling old house overlooking the sea.
“Come in.” It beckons. Its voice now raspy with splinters and age. “Come see the views beyond me. Watch the crashing waves upon the shore. See the sunset against the mist. Open me. Dream.”
The door stood as the keeper of a house, long since abandoned. Its creaky calls growing distant and weak. The only answerers being children fulfilling a dare and teenagers looking for a hot thrilling night.
And then one day, someone ripped it from its lover. Tore its soul in two. Perhaps they thought the door might make good kindling. When they went to cut the door in half, they heard a whisper.
“Come in.”
And so they sold the door. They could not bear to be the breaker of dreams. That is how it came to be miles and miles from its heart. It came to rest in an antique shop far from the home it once guarded. It came to me.
And I will heed its call. I will see the dreams behind the door. It whispers, “Come in.”
And I do.
I linked this to
Savvy Southern Style
My Romantic Home
