An ode to a threshold

The holiday weekend couldn’t come soon enough at Minnesota Transplant’s house this week. We spent most of Monday and Tuesday installing new flooring in the pantry aka back entryway aka laundry room, and then I spent most of the rest of the week adding coats of paint and polyurethane to the foot locker where we squirrel away our shoes in said pantry. Lots of sweaty, tedious effort.

I’m not quite ready to show off our handiwork, but I’m particularly grateful for the new threshold from the pantry to the kitchen about which I want to pine away for a minute or two.


The threshold (and my Beloved’s hand as he touches up the quarter round off camera).

Yeah, it’s essentially a two-inch wide piece of plastic hiding the ugly place where the kitchen tile meets the pantry tile. Gratitude. For a threshold. Made of plastic.

Skeptical? Let me explain.

That ugly strip was a bit of stapled linoleum for the past nine years. Since we moved in. I must have walked over it 10,000 times. It was an eyesore that familiarity made me blind to.

And now it’s a perfect detail whose beauty I appreciate that I will soon become blind to, too. But before that happens, I want to appreciate it:

  • It covers those ugly staples.
  • It’s the smooth and flat surface in the doorway, preventing me from tripping when I’m carrying groceries, or another load of laundry, or the recycling.
  • It required extra attention from my handy Beloved who figured out how to even the flooring so it could lie so functionally flat. I have no clue how to perform such carpentry magic.
  • It matches both the old kitchen tile and the new pantry flooring. It’s perfect.

It’s a small, small thing in that little room and an infinitely smaller thing in this big world, but it makes me smile.

Hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come,
whispering, “It will be happier.”

~ Alfred Lord Tennyson

One response to “An ode to a threshold

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