FEBRUARY 18, 2021 – Last Monday I wiped out on skis. The issue was “boilerplate,” as my uncle used to call a patch of glare ice on a ski slope. Plus, I was on x-c skis—without sharp, metal, defensive edges. It was my first fall of the season—63 days, so far. As my left hip slammed onto the “boilerplate,” I thought immediately of the door.
Yes, “the door.”
My wife maintains her online book sales office in what was once our den—a small room off a larger reading/sitting room. Soon after we moved in 35 years ago, I staked out my claim to the den. A decade ago, I was evicted to make way for the book biz, which has expanded into an adjoining book storage room and a good chunk of the basement.
The den-now-office has a large French door (equipped with a roll-up shade), which is always open against the wall of the reading room on account of a large reading chair parked beside the open door. From the reading/sitting room, the open-door policy allows for a full view of . . . Beth’s book biz, which, though it’s a very tidy business, isn’t always so tidy from a visual standpoint.
A few weeks ago, Beth—who’s aesthetically very much aware, decided that the full view should be disallowed—at least on occasion. To avoid moving the immovable chair that blocks the door from closing, she got the bright idea of suspending the French door from a “barn door” slide. In realization of the bright idea, she bought a “barn door” slide kit from Menard’s and asked if I’d “want to install it.”
“Sure,” I said.
Not so fast. As I analyzed the situation and tried to match conceptually, house structure with “slide kit” design, I discovered numerous challenges. By Monday I’d removed the I-didn’t-realize-how-heavy-it-was door from its hinges and the molding from around the door frame. I’d also poked holes in the office wall paneling to understand better the framing around the doorway (the house is 80 years old) and measured the thickness of the plaster on the reading room side of things. In cautionary abundance, I’d measured every relevant dimension about 500 times. But ever so mindful of the Hippocratic Oath as it applies to remodeling, I refrained from . . . doing harm.
Now back to my wipe-out on skis. As I stood up from my fall on the “boilerplate,” I asked myself, “Is hanging the French door on a ‘barn slide’ a potential wipe-out on ‘boilerplate’?”
For the rest of my workout and the 15-minute walk home, I contemplated this unpleasant comparison. As of this writing, I’m still at the top of the slope, as it were, wondering if perhaps I should avoid the triple black diamond run altogether—the run called, “Barn Slide Door.” I wouldn’t want to rely on the ski patrol to observe the Hippocratic Oath as they slide the toboggan-with-injured-skier down the treacherous mountain.
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© 2021 by Eric Nilsson
