My sister recently realized that we all, including my mother, were having more and more trouble getting the old knob and paint-coated door jam to release the door from its opening on request. So she bought a door handle-lever to replace the knob. Installing it was at the top of the Things-I-get-to-do-today list when I arrived at Mother's place last week.
|Knob already gone.|
Deadbolt chipped loose
|Covering a multitude of "sins"|
The new handle slipped into a hole made just for it at a comfortable-to-reach height. Slick. Functional. Handsome with its own strike plate to match.
But now we see the hole in the door jam--the scene of a bundle of careless attempts to fix/replace the strike plate over the last many dozen years. This is the wood ulcer--deep, ugly, festering, rotten. No solution but surgery will work.
|Prepped for reconstruction|
So we cut away to clean wood, making square corners and straight lines. Wood graft cut to fit the dimensions was glued and wedged in place. The belt sander cleaned it smooth to its neighbor wood.
|Restored and ready for its last|
coat of paint.
It's interesting, isn't it, how old wounds/ulcers hold a funny sense of dis-ease about them whether in the body or in the wood. The repair, cleaning, restoring of the entrance to this home has released old pain and suffering. Now, as we come and go through that space, it feels free, fresh and peaceful. Healing on so many levels has taken place.