Over The Doorstep

Back in mid-December Hubby Tony and I decided to replace the door from the garage into the house. Over time the basic solid flat wood slab had shrunk, and cold air was getting in.  We went to a big box hardware store intending to buy the cheapest insulated one they had available.  The salesman informed us that the building code had been changed and we had to get a fire-rated model. We did, and while we were at it we also purchased a new screen door so the entire entrance would look nice.

We had to wait until this Monday to have the door installed.  (There must have been a lot of people doing the same thing we were.)  I set aside the whole day for the project. The installer had a two hour window within which to show up, and then the job could take as long as four hours. 

It's not often I don't leave the house, and I made the most of it-cooking, cleaning, and organizing.  The interior garage door opens into the laundry room, and there's an interior door at the other end of the room.  The installer closed the second door to keep the cold air out, so I couldn't see his progress.  However, I could hear him sawing, drilling, hammering, and nailing.  When he was done he came into the kitchen and said that adhesive he'd used to attach the door threshold needed two days to dry, so we needed to step over it until it was cured.

I knew no one in the family would be able to remember that, so I made signs to put on both sides of the door, and taped a third sign to the threshold itself.  Sure enough, every time I went through the door I started to step on the forbidden section, saw the sign, and stepped over.

Unsightly, but it got the job done