For five years I've been walking past this time-worn wooden door in my neighbourhood, wondering why such a beautiful example of craftsmanship from the late 1900s is fronting an empty building. Or at least the building is empty on the ground floor, butcher paper taped to its glass and blocking all interior views. Above the storefront are modern apartments, built in the 1980s.
It seems odd that the original door was not removed in favour of something more in keeping with the building's updated look. Perhaps the owner of the ground floor is not the person who owns the top floors of apartments. Maybe the owner of the empty space behind the decorative door clings to his part of the building, stubbornly refusing to sell and denying all attempts at change.
I've been tempted to inquire about purchasing the door. Undoubtedly it's worth something, due to its age and design - although it would require restoration by a talented ebeniste. But something always gives me pause.
Maybe it's the fact that the door has stood for so long, undisturbed. No one has ever broken its original wavy glass or vandalized the space. This makes me think the door should stay where it is: a proud witness to history; a defiant sentry of a bygone era.