A dozen years or more ago, we needed to get a new front door at our abode. The old one was letting in a tremendous draft, so our feet would be freezing even inside the house. My wife decided on this particular door, which she acknowledged was a bit more expensive than some others. I grudgingly agreed to the purchase. Little did I know it was a rainbow door.
Roughly 40 minutes after sunrise, the sun pierces through the door’s glass and creates a series of rainbows. They appear on the steps and down the hallway for about an hour and a half most days. This brings me joy.
Recently, I was looking more carefully at the patterns. If you look at the pattern from the kitchen down the hallway, the nearer patterns appear with colors, but the designs heading towards the door appear white. However, if you look up the hallway – being sure not to be in the way of the rainbow door’s array – it shows color all the way to the kitchen.
Some are boxy, while others are long and narrow, and they change over the morning. Watching these has become an interesting, if not obsessive, phenomenon. My cellphone photography does not do these patterns justice.
Beyond that, people passing by make comments about the beauty of the door itself. It’s distinctive enough that some people identify our house from the entryway.
About three months after we got the new door, someone came to our home seeking the OLD door. They had lived in the house years ago, before the people we bought the house from. We had given it to our contractor, and I don’t know what became of it after that.
Doors fascinate me. Loved the coffin doors at the Marriott Syracuse Downtown, where I stayed back in 2017.
I wrote a story about coming through the door at my first home here. It was a fascinating writing exercise.
On November 20, my church participated in the Transgender Day of Remembrance. It was the morning after the mass shooting at Club Q in Colorado Springs was attacked.
The Weekly Sift guy wondered, Is Club Q just the beginning? A story in the Los Angeles Times indicates that “There are few, if any, gay bars or other LGBTQ-friendly hangouts in [California’s] more rural counties, where queer people say they live with a growing sense of foreboding.”
Chuck Rozanski/Bettie Pages, the President of Mile High Comics, noted that the club was “not just any bar in my life, but one of the places where I have performed most often.” They had been served orange juice by Daniel Aston, one of the five who were killed only nine days earlier. In his follow-up post, they wrote about what they thought should happen next, which, in brief, is to fight back.
Arthur on The Respect for Marriage Act.