The doors come knocking

Arnold and Shawn have been working on the doors for months now -- one of the joys of a handmade house is that nothing is quite off the shelf, and to complicate things, Robert and I had the architect specify solid wood and lots of louvers.

(We had some unfortunate hollow-cores in Chicago, and Tennessee's really heavy doors spoiled us; besides, Key West's humidity means louvers are a great antidote to mildew.)

So they were all special order, and we've been waiting, waiting. . . . Just yesterday, Shawn said they'd been delayed yet another week. But early this morning, Manley-De Boer, our lumberyard, called to say they'd be delivered in a few minutes.

The truck pulled up, and a big, burly guy about my age handed the doors down to the whole crew -- the painters scrambled, too, to help us shoulder them into the house.

They're beautiful. The louvers, mostly on closet doors, are sturdy and perfectly set. The "four-lights" (with four panels set into the frames) are heavy and a pleasure to run a hand across. "Furniture-grade pine," said Arnold, who explained to Darren the painter that joints at the panel edges, which looked like 90-degree angles, were really quite complex routs. "Those are really nice doors," said Roy, who was already dreading painting the louvers but figuring the best strategies to get it done.

"Mind if I take a look at the house?," asked the delivery guy, his truck still idling in the street.

Of course not, I said, and took him through.

"Wow, nice!," he said. Thanks, I said, and shook his hand and introduced myself.

"Scott De Boer," he said in mid-handshake.

Short pause. (Well, enough time to think, "Manley-De Boer.")

I gestured at the paneling and grinned: I think you've sold us . . . well, all of this, really.

"I know," he said. "I noticed your deliveries. I just wanted to see what you did with it all, and it looks really great."

I thanked him and asked him to come back when it's finished, and he promised he would. Or wood.