Our house has lost many doors over time. Most notably, its front doors. It has also lost four interior doors; and, OK, I’ll admit that having six doors in one kitchen wasn’t a brilliant plan to begin with—but why oh why couldn’t they have tucked those spares into a corner somewhere?
So I’ve become a crazy door lady. My tolerant sidekick and I carried home half-a-dozen old doors this year, just from the alleys near our house. One I gave to another old house owner via Freecycle. And the others I’m hoarding for the time being on my side of the garage with the straw for gardening and the 1972 BMW motorcycle that has been become an house-restoration widow.
One of these is the front door from a 1910 house nearby; another is the front door of a 20s house. And several of the interior doors have the same hardware as what’s in my house—in better shape than some of mine, with the original finish still fairly clear. Alas, several of them have joint compound spots all over, and frankly I bet that’s why they got tossed—too much trouble for the busy, busy people of today.