Our story so far: We neared the finish line in at least a few spaces of the old Methodist church we were turning into our home.
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Among the finishing details I enjoyed watching come to fruition was the door to our granddaughter’s playhouse, the space under the eaves we’d named for her.
More than once, I was amused to see a grown man working in that little five-foot-high space. The drywallers installed drywall, and the painter painted it. I sanded the floors with the edging machine (it was less amusing when I was the one on my knees).
Tyler recycled the old closet door that had led to the opposite eaves. When we’d first toured the church, a hand-lettered sign was posted on the closet door warning: “Do not open!” Behind it was a lot of dust and debris.
He removed several layers of paint until he revealed the last layer—a distressed sea foam green that I loved. He cut it to size, and I applied a couple of coats of clear polyurethane. He attached it to our granddaughter’s playhouse with some vintage-y black hinges; all we required now was a cool door knob. Our soon-to-be-walking granddaughter would find this little room to be just her size.
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Tomorrow: More floors. This one you don’t want to miss. Click here.
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[…] Tomorrow: Granddaughter’s door. Read about it here. […]