Julie’s daughter, Hanna took photos of a church door. I loved them, which reminded me of all the door photos our family has taken over the years. We all like doors. Strangest thing. We all take photos of doors; big heavy fortress doors, tiny doors, massive church doors, battered doors, or pretty painted doors. There is a story behind every door, very clichéd but true.
Somehow I had a momentary flash in the mystery of my mind. I decided to use a different door photo for every month in 2011. You get the picture. Now I have to come up with twelve doors, including the honorary door which started it all.
Hanna’s photo of a rectory door to the Woodland Park United Methodist Church in the Seattle area. The perfect door for January. Thick planks of wood. Sturdy. Blue white paint. Strong black door handle. A little weathered and worn on the bottom edge from years of rain and snow.
This is the tiniest door I have ever seen, inside a famous church in Munich. The walls are a brilliant white plaster with the arch and straight lines framing the thick door with sturdy lock and handle. I’m taller by head and shoulder. The people must have been very small.
T-I-N-Y door leading to a secret place. I think it leads to a secret place, down a winding hallway and stairs. A place where tiny people live. A place for lovely, petite women who lounge on cushions while reading books.
Just through an alcove is the famous footprint of the devil. I accidentally stepped on it. Apparently several nuns gasped and crossed themselves at the horror of it all. Trust me to go where others fear to go.
Somewhere along the way, I missed posting a new door at the beginning of February and it seemed fitting to post this door in the middle of March. After the harsh winter weather we have had, I think it was a fitting door.
From Morocco, a slightly opened door in pink stucco. I love the studs and the colour. A strong door open to the warmer weather. The contrast of the gray, white in the center of the textured wall makes me think of rich aromatic food simmering on a stove.
Another door from Morocco. No, I have never been. Youngest son and wife travelled to Morocco and Spain. Who knew there is surfing off the west coast of Africa. They arrived in Casa Blanca, travelled to the surf camp, and took the train to Marrakech. The Big Guy is so jealous. He wants to take the midnight train to Marrakech.
Somewhere in Morocco is this beautiful door. Doesn’t this door remind you of Sinbad? Or the “A Thousand and One Nights.”
There you have it, the story behind the doors as my Gravatar. Thanks to Julie for the inspiration.
Stay safe. Stay warm. Stay dry.