Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

An urban spa in Elysian November 18, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 9:03 AM
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OCCASIONALLY, I RUN across something that strikes me as odd/out-of-place/unusual/interesting/nonconforming.

I strung those similar words together because I couldn’t decide which one perfectly fits the business name in the photo below.

 

 

Shylah's Urban Spa is located next to American Legion Post 311 in Elysian.

 

“Why would I categorize this business title as an oddity?” you ask.

Well, because Shylah’s Urban Spa is located on Main Street in Elysian, a town of 580 residents located northeast of Mankato along Minnesota Highway 60. Elysian doesn’t exactly qualify as an urban community even when its population swells during the busy summer tourist season.

I could guess why Shylah inserted “urban” into her spa name. Perhaps the word choice relates more to the atmosphere and experience than to the small-town location.

Shylah’s Urban Spa is, according to information on the city of Elysian website, a “Unique salon offering all the latest trends! We offer all hair services, nail services, massage, permanent cosmetics, eyelash extensions and hair extensions.”

Now, I have never been to a spa. But, if I was to patronize one, I would expect to find those services. So if Shylah wants her customers to think they are in New York City or Minneapolis or even Mankato, instead of Main Street Elysian, that’s fine by me.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

I cave in to technology November 17, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 10:41 AM
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I GOT A NEW CELL PHONE 2 ½ weeks ago. Big deal, you say.

Well, if you’re me, this is a big deal. You see, up until Halloween, I did not own a cell phone.

I know, I know, that is difficult to believe. But I have, for years, resisted getting a cell phone. I told myself I really didn’t need one and couldn’t justify the added monthly expense.

Then my second-born handed over her cell phone before leaving for a six-month stay in Argentina. I got used to having the darned thing. When she returned to the United States and I had to give her phone back, I kind of missed it. Yet, I didn’t cave in and get my own phone.

But then she went to Argentina again and, before leaving, handed over her cell phone for the second time. That did it. Upon her return in October, I got a cell phone and so did my husband and our 16-year-old son. Our two daughters upgraded.

I still cannot believe that we (I) did this. Me, the last hold-out in modern civilization now owns a cell phone with a slide-out keyboard. And I am texting, yes, texting.

 

 

My new, very own, fancy schmancy cell phone with slide-out keyboard.

 

Initially I balked at the very idea of texting. Why would I want to text? How could I possibly tap out a message with my thumbs on such a small keyboard? I am. (It doesn’t work to use your index finger; I tried that.)

I won’t win any texting contests. I’m slow. And the writer in me struggles with the language of texting—the abbreviations, lack of proper punctuation and capitalization.

But…I’m adapting. I type “u” for “you.” I punch “r” for “are.” It is sad and pathetic and I feel almost like a traitor to the English language. I wonder if someday while writing a story, I’ll write like I’m texting.

That brings up an interesting point. How will this style of communication affect today’s younger generation? Will they know how to spell? Will they be able to write complete and properly punctuated sentences?

Will they know how to communicate face-to-face?

I am sounding like an old-timer here. I realize that. But when I consider advances in my lifetime, technology marks the biggest change. I grew up in a house that, for the longest time, did not have a telephone. When my parents finally got one, we were on a party line and answered our number—2074—to two long rings.

During my freshman and sophomore years of college, the one phone in my dorm was four floors down and shared by everyone.

I remember when I thought getting a cordless phone was a big deal. I still have that free-range phone and my corded landline.

How many phones does one woman need? Do I really, truly, need a cell phone? I still struggle with justifying the expense.

That is me, though. I’ve always been frugal and slow to embrace technology and change. I wasn’t the first in line to buy a microwave, a computer, a VCR or…fill in the blank. My television is a freebie garage sale 1990s vintage set. It works just fine, thank you, unless the weather is humid or windy. (Yes, I rely on an antenna for reception.)

Now I have this cell phone. I suppose eventually I will want to upgrade to internet capabilities. But first I need to learn how to check my voicemail, take photos…

WHAT’S YOUR TAKE on cell phones and how they impact our lives? What are positives and negatives? Share your thoughts in a comment to Minnesota Prairie Roots. I’d like to hear.

If you wish to congratulate me on my cell phone acquisition, feel free to do so. You won’t be the first, though, to do so.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Barns along Rice County Road 15 November 16, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:31 AM
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White barn along Rice County 15

 

FOR YEARS WE’VE DRIVEN the back road from Faribault, through Morristown, to visit family in Waseca. The route slices through fields and past farm places that snuggle close to the roadway.

Sunday afternoon en route to Waseca and riding in the passenger front seat of our car with camera in hand, I was ready to capture the beauty of our first snowfall. I decided to focus on barns, which, if you’ve followed Minnesota Prairie Roots, you know I appreciate.

My blog statistics show that you, my readers, share my love of old barns.

So enjoy these barn images, taken through the car windows as my husband and I traveled along Rice County Road 15 between Faribault and Morristown. I’m pleased with how they turned out given I had little time to compose the shots.

Now just imagine what I could produce if I actually took the time to stop, get out of the car and take the photos. But we were in a hurry.

And, as my husband says, if we stopped every time I wanted to take a picture, we’d never get anywhere.

 

 

I couldn't believe how this picture turned out as I shot it through the driver's side window. The line of the car perfectly mimics the barn's roof line.

 

 

The owner of this barn, a friend of ours, re-roofed his barn this summer.

 

 

Of all the shots I took, this is my favorite because of its composition and because of the black earth peeking through the fresh, thin layer of snow.

 

 

I edited this to black-and-white even though there is little difference from the original white barn against the snow.

 

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Check back for more barn photos from that road trip to Wascea.

 

Sauerbraten and sauerkraut in Morristown November 15, 2010

Diners gathered in the fellowship hall at Bethlehem Lutheran Church in Morristown for a German meal served by the Cannon Valley Lutheran High School German Club following a German Fest of Thanks & Praise.

THE LAST TIME I ATE an authentic German meal, I was in high school. The German Club, of which I was a member, was on a Christmas trip to New Ulm, that most Deutsch of all Minnesota cities.

After visiting Domeier’s German Store, a quaint import shop, and Christmas shopping downtown, we gathered at Eibner’s, a German restaurant. Of our ethnic meal there, I remember only the main dish, sauerbraten.

Fast forward nearly four decades to yesterday and a German meal served by the Cannon Valley Lutheran High School German Club at a fundraising dinner in Morristown. The group is traveling to Germany in February. The main dish sauerbraten, beef served atop spaetzle, tasted tangy and vinegary, exactly as I remembered. But then so did several of the other foods like the German potato salad and the purple cabbage, which my friend Mike claimed was transformed from green to purple in a sort of scientific experiment.

The plated portion of the meal included German potato salad, cabbage, brats with sauerkraut, sauerbraten served atop spaetzle (a German dumpling) and bread (rye may have been a more authentic choice).

Magic or not, the meal turned out by the kitchen crew (primarily German students’ parents and CVLHS board members) was worthy of any good German restaurant. I give it five stars.

That said, I honestly could not eat this food on a regular basis. Too much starch. Too heavy. Too all-one-boring blah white, except for that colorful dash of purple cabbage. I fear a steady diet of this would clog my arteries and cause me to gain weight more rapidly than I already am at my slowing metabolism mid-50s age.

In all fairness to the Germans, I’m certain they don’t eat this much or these types of foods daily just like I don’t eat pizza and potatoes every day. In fact, CVLHS language teacher Sabine Bill, who recently moved to Morristown from Germany, told me the German meal served on Sunday is representative of the food eaten in the Bavarian region of southern Germany, not the entire country.

Now I’m unsure where my German ancestors lived, but I know they liked their sauerkraut. My dad was the king of sauerkraut makers, a tradition carried on by my sister Lanae. We got sauerkraut on Sunday served with slices of brats.

Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly eat another bite of anything, I was handed a bowl of bread pudding laced with raisins and immersed in a decadent, over-sweet buttery sauce. My husband complained that his piece was smaller than mine and I offered to share. But I didn’t, not one single bite. I could have. I should have…

The decadent bread pudding...

Typically I don't drink coffee. But it was decaff, went well with the bread pudding and pfeffernusse and was served in the prettiest, sturdiest cups.

Diane, a CVLHS board member, made more than 1,000 pfeffernusse, tiny hard cookies which include black pepper, black coffee and several spices. Each diner got five cookies, served in festive cupcake liners.

On the way out of the Bethlehem Lutheran Church fellowship hall, where the German meal was served, I told my friend Mike that his group had started something. They would have to host this German Fest of Thanks & Praise and the German meal annually.

I could eat this ethnic food once a year. To my several-generations-removed-from-Deutschland taste buds, this homemade meal rated as authentically delicious.

Programs from the pre-dinner German Fest of Thanks & Praise lie on a pew inside Bethlehem Lutheran Church. The fest included prayers, songs and Scripture readings in German.

Between meal sittings, musicians entertained waiting diners inside the Bethlehem Lutheran Church sanctuary.

On my way to the church balcony, I found this CVLHS sign on a bulletin board.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Greasy first snow in Faribault November 13, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:29 PM
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A city of Faribault snowplow plows the street past my house Saturday morning.

I KNEW IT WAS COMING, “it” being snow. The weather forecasters forecast it. And I really should expect it given this is November already.

Yet, I wasn’t ready to wake up this morning to snow blanketing the ground.

Greasy, heavy, wet snow, slick as Crisco on the driveway and sidewalks and roadways.

Not that I’ve been outside. I haven’t. But my husband told me so. He’s shoveled the driveway. Twice.

I’m content inside the house, catching up on tasks, baking bars, phoning my mom in southwestern Minnesota. She reported little snow at her home in Vesta at mid-morning.

In the Cities, conditions are nasty, according to a text message from my eldest. We had planned to go up there today but quickly canceled that trip. No sense being in the metro during the first snowfall of the season if you don’t need to be there.

Down in La Crosse, my second daughter reported no snow earlier today.

Over in Montgomery and Mankato, 10 inches had already fallen by noon, according to an announcer for the local radio station.

My sister said conditions were horrible over in Waseca. Cars in ditches. Snow still falling.

I wonder every year why I’m never ready for the first snowfall. Years ago, as a child, I welcomed it. Today I just wish it would go away.

The plow clears the side street past my corner house. I had wanted to post some "pretty" snow photos here. But alas, I had no desire to slip and slide and try to keep snowflakes off my camera lens. These two images were shot from inside my snug, warm house.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

An update from flood-ravaged Hammond & Floodfest 2010 November 12, 2010

WHEN I MET KATIE SHONES a month ago outside her Hammond home across Wabasha County Road 11 from the Zumbro River, she was angry. She was waiting for President Barack Obama to issue a disaster declaration that would begin the process of rebuilding her flood-ravaged community of 230.

Some 80 percent of the homes in her town, and most if not all of the businesses, were damaged by late September floodwaters. She was one of the lucky ones; the water stopped several feet from her front door.

A flood-damaged home and garage in Hammond, photographed in mid-October..

Yet, the impact on her community, on family and friends, left Katie reeling.

We’ve exchanged several e-mails since our mid-October meeting. With Katie’s permission, I am sharing here, in her words, how she and others have been impacted, why she is frustrated and how you can help.

Interestingly enough, Katie begins her first e-mail with a definitive choice of words that truly causes me to pause. She terms the people of southeastern Minnesota “flood survivors,” adding this in parenthesis: (notice I did not say flood victim!).

Right away I ask her to explain why that differentiation is so important.

I prefer the term survivor. The flood is over, it is time to get on with life, move forward and face all the challenges head on. Victim sounds like you are allowing someone or something to take advantage of you. It sounds downtrodden, depressed. I see people of all ages doing what midwesterners do best “pulling themselves up by the bootstraps.”

So who are these people, these strong, strong people whom Katie knows?

My brother’s house is in Zumbro Falls – main street – and had water almost up to the first floor ceiling. They can rebuild if they want providing the first floor is 1.7 ft above the 100 year flood plain. At this point, my brother and his wife will spend the winter at my mom’s and decide what to do in the Spring, as to whether they will raise the existing house up 1.7 ft, rebuild or move to a different home. They did have flood insurance.

My mother-in-law’s home is approximately 2 miles down river from Jarrett. She has lived in that house for 53 years and in that time her house had never once flooded except for this Sept. The flood waters came out of the first floor windows. She did not have flood insurance because she is not in the flood plain. The house is stripped down to the stud walls and she plans on fixing up the house and moving back in sometime this coming year. She has signed up for the free insulation and sheet rock. A son and a son-in-law will do the re-wiring.

For now, Katie’s 75-year-old widowed mother-in-law is bouncing among her five daughters’ homes.

My dear friend and her family have been living in a hotel room since the flood occurred. They still have to make the mortgage payment on their uninhabitable home plus come up with the money for the hotel…….

She details in a follow-up email that her friend’s family has now found a house to rent in Rochester for the winter and will fix up their Hammond home and move back as soon as they can. Three generations lived in that house, which lies in the 500-year flood plain and saw floodwaters rise more than two feet into the first floor.

I can only think that for the trio of flood survivor stories Katie has shared with me, there are hundreds more. She continues:

To be honest with you, I have not talked with many of my former neighbors. I do not know where some of them have moved to. A few Hammondites cannot rebuild because they are in the flood way. Some are walking away because they never want to go through anything like this ever again. I get the feeling the majority of residents will rebuild. Hammond is their home. Some will remodel and others are talking about putting in trailer houses or modular homes.

The exposed side of a restaurant/grocery in Hammond, where a portion of a building once stood. A month ago the ruins lay in a heap in the street.

Katie praises those who have come to the aid of flood survivors.

Many volunteer organizations have come in to the area and have done an amazing job.  People and groups have helped tear down damaged walls and floors, picked up junk and debris, local restaurants and businesses have brought in meals. One church organization is donating insulation and sheet rock to flood damaged homes and the labor to put the materials up!!! Others have come in and power washed basements and walls to prevent black mold.

Volunteers are still needed. Call the Hammond City Hall at (507) 753-2086 and leave a message stating that you are willing to help and what special skills you can offer.

With the exception of winter wear, clothing donations are not needed. Furniture is welcomed, Katie says, adding though that many survivors have no place to store anything.

Monetary donations for flood relief may be directed to:

MinnWest Bank – Rochester, 331 16th Ave NW, Rochester, MN. 55901

People’s State Bank, 100 4th Ave SE, Plainview, MN. 55964

While Katie appreciates the kindness and help of so many, she remains frustrated with the government.

What is so maddening is the government’s response to the homeowners. I have been told that the reason there is so little assistance to the individual is because so few homes (only 604 homes) were affected. That shouldn’t make any difference. A home is a home and these people still need a place to live. Many have moved in with family members. I think the biggest thing people can do is call their elected officials and express outrage at how this entire tragedy has been handled. I truly believe that the average Minnesotan does not realize the extent of devastation in Wabasha County, the hardest hit county during the flood.

THIS WEEKEND YOU CAN JOIN flood relief efforts by attending Floodfest 2010 at Bluff Valley Campground, 61297 390th Ave., Zumbro Falls. Proceeds will benefit those impacted by the southeastern Minnesota flood. The event begins today at 5 p.m with a fish fry and continues until 1 a.m. Floodfest then resumes at 7 a.m. Saturday with a prayer service followed by a pancake breakfast. The weekend is jam-packed with music, a kids’ carnival, sporting activities, a bake sale, silent auction, arts and crafts and more. Click here for more information.

A Zumbro Falls home destroyed by the September flood.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Reflecting at a veterans’ memorial

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 12:10 PM
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Rice County Courthouse, Faribault

I DIDN’T ATTEND any Veterans Day ceremonies yesterday, and perhaps I should have. But several days earlier, I paid my own quiet tribute by walking the grounds of the Rice County courthouse where a veterans’ memorial expansion project is underway. For years a lone Civil War statue has stood there honoring those who served.

Today new sidewalks edged by honorary pavers lead to the memorial plaza which will eventually feature that Civil War statue, a torch, bronze eagle, dove, granite columns, flags, benches and gardens. I expect a place for quiet reflection, a place of honor, a place to cry.

Honorary pavers line sidewalks leading to the center of the Rice County veterans' memorial on the courthouse lawn in Faribault.

Veterans’ memorials often move me to tears because they always, always, bring thoughts of my dad, a Korean War veteran. I remember how, months after his 2003 death, my emotions overcame me while viewing the veterans’ memorial in Winona. With grief still gripping my soul, I simply wept.

Such strong emotions did not pervade my thoughts at the site of the new Rice County Veterans Memorial in Faribault. Yet, words and images triggered memories in a quiet, deeply personal way of honoring those who have served our country.

Three letters, KIA, imprinted upon a paver signify the ultimate sacrifice. Killed in action. I thought of my dad's soldier-buddy, Ray Scheibe, who was blown apart by an incoming shell on the day before he was to leave Korea. My dad never got over this loss and was forever haunted by the horrible image of Ray's death.

Even though I knew the trail of white in the sky came from an airliner, I imagined this to be the smoke of gunfire or of bombs or of shells as I took this image of the Civil War statue in Faribault.

I was coming of age during the Vietnam War. I remember the protests, the anger, the peace signs, all of it...

When I look at the MIA/POW flag, I recall the metal bracelet I wore in high school, the bracelet engraved with the name of a soldier held as a prisoner of war during the Vietnam War. Sadly, I don't remember his name or even know if I still have that bracelet tucked away somewhere in a cardboard box.

When I composed this image, the back of the Civil War statue, I thought about how a soldier must sometimes feel so alone, so vulnerable.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Remembering my dad, a Korean War veteran November 11, 2010

 

 

Elvern Kletscher, my dad

 

I’VE JUST PULLED TWO FILES from a cabinet in my office. One’s labeled “Elvern K. (obit, death certificate).” The other is simply labeled “KOREA.”

Then I turn toward a chest of drawers, also in my office, and remove a shoebox from the bottom drawer. It’s tagged “Elvern Kletscher’s Korean pix, etc. Important stuff.” I’ve underlined “Important stuff” twice.

The contents of that shoebox connect to the contents of the files. All encompass my dad’s time serving with the U.S. Army during the Korean Conflict.

 

 

Some of the items from my dad's time in the military, stored in a shoebox.

 

Sifting through the files and shoebox brings me to tears as I remember my dad, who fought on the front lines, was wounded on February 26, 1953, at Heartbreak Ridge and received a Purple Heart medal 47 years later. He died in 2003.

My father talked very little of his time in Korea. So other than generalities and a few shared stories, only his black-and-white photos and letters offer me a glimpse of the young man who was drafted and sent into combat.

In letters written to his family, my dad vents his frustrations and concerns. I’ll share snippets of a letter from Korea dated March 4, 1953, his 22nd birthday, and written days after he was wounded.

Dear Mother, Dad & all

Guess you’s have been snowbound for awhile. “Huh” Just got your letter today. Well I’m 22 now. Birthday is past by a couple hours. Sure isn’t much of a birthday. But guess I can’t expect much over here.

Then he proceeds to blast the draft board and politicians after learning that his younger brother, Harold, may be called to duty. I can’t quote everything he wrote, but let me tell you, my father is fuming. He writes, in part:

Do they know what this is like over here? Hell no. Why the heck don’t some of them come over here and look this over. They’d probably come to their senses…

In the third page of his letter, my father-soldier continues:

I didn’t get your package yet, but they will be here soon mail is awful poor in coming through. Nobody is getting any mail. I’ve got 17 points now I think. They pile up fast. Sure wish I had the 36 of them though. I still think I’ll leave Korea in August. So it isn’t too long anymore. I sure hope I get out 3 months prior to my discharge. That’s almost all we talk about in the day time is how many points each other has got and when we think we will leave this hell hole.

Those are two strong words: hell hole.

But the few war stories that my father shared were nothing short of hellish. He told of digging foxholes and praying that God would save him from death, of a buddy blown up before his eyes, of a sniper picking off members of his platoon until my dad picked off the sniper, of being pinned down for days in trenches under constant enemy shelling…

 

 

My dad brought this 7-inch by 9-inch cloth "RETURNED FROM HELL" patch home with him after serving for nearly a year in Korea.

 

Through the attacks, the combat, the deaths of buddies, all through his year in Korea, my dad held strong to his faith. He wrote:

Sure was good to go to church. I had communion. I always try and make every church service they got over here. Once a week the chaplain comes up here on the hill. It’s always good to go. Always makes a guy know he isn’t alone.

In concluding his 3 ½-page letter, my father tells his parents:

I’m feeling fine and don’t worry about me. I’ll write again. Love Vern

Not once in his 87-line letter does my dad mention that just nine days earlier he was struck on the right side of his neck by shrapnel from a mortar round.

 

 

Elvern Kletscher, left, with two of his buddies in Korea.

 

TODAY, VETERANS DAY, please take time to honor a veteran, remembering all they have sacrificed for their country.

In conclusion, I wish to quote a few lines from a news release issued by former Second District Congressman David Minge on May 12, 2000, the year my dad received his Purple Heart for those wounds suffered on Heartbreak Ridge in Korea.

These two men are a prime example of sacrifice and service to our nation. For fifty years, Norman Kalk and Elvern Kletscher knew the truth that they had earned these medals. I am gratified that we could finally recognize their contributions and acknowledge the debt we can never repay.

#

A STORY WHICH I WROTE about my Dad’s service in Korea was published in 2005 in the book God Answers Prayers Military Edition, True Stories from People Who Serve and Those Who Love Them, edited by Allison Bottke. To read that story, “Faith and Hope in a Land of Heartbreak,” click onto the Harvest House Publishers website.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Travel stories from Argentina November 10, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 8:28 AM
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Castle at Estancia La Candelaria in Argentina.

 

AS DIFFERENT AS my second-born and I are—she’s a fearless traveler, I’m not—we share a common passion and talent. We are both writers.

I never purposely led Miranda on this path, although I suspect that my endless reading aloud of books to her as a child instilled a basic love of language.

She chose to pursue writing on her own with me offering encouragement from the sidelines. In high school, she served as co-editor of the student newspaper, never backing down even when challenged by the principal. At the University of Wisconsin- La Crosse, she also wrote, and edited, for the student newspaper.

Last week Miranda began freelancing for examiner.com, St. Paul. She’s a travel writer with the online entity, and a darned good one. She focuses on Argentina, her adopted country, and the place where she’s studied, done mission work and interned. She just returned from Buenos Aires three weeks ago after a 4 ½-month stint there, her second time in that South American capital city.

Since her return to Minnesota, Miranda has been searching for a job that will utilize her Spanish-speaking skills. She has a Spanish degree and wants to work as an interpreter or translator. I don’t think it’s any coincidence that she opted for minors in international studies and communications studies.

While she searches for employment, Miranda is volunteering with a local charitable service center, helping with Spanish interpreting.

She is also staying connected to the Latin America culture via those examiner.com, St. Paul, articles. She’s penned some interesting features about gauchos, a Buenos Aires cemetery, a favorite pancake restaurant and Mafalda, Argentina’s most popular comic strip. But don’t take my word for it. Read for yourself by checking out the travel section of examiner.com, St. Paul.

 

 

An Argentine gaucho

 

 

Statue at Chacarita Cemetery, Buenos Aires, Argentina

 

PHOTOS BY MIRANDA HELBLING

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Choosing a door November 9, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 2:49 PM
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DEAR READERS:

See these weather-beaten, 1960s or 1970s vintage doors?

I'm selecting a new door to replace the wooden entry door on the right. Once the new door is installed, I'll choose a storm door.

I am ashamed to admit that these are the front doors on my house.

No one would argue that they need replacing. My husband and I are in the process of selecting new doors. We’ve chosen the brand and are working with John from a local lumberyard.

John is a patient man. But today I sensed that he is becoming impatient with me when I told him, once again, that I’m not quite ready to order the entry door. (We haven’t even discussed storm doors.) I can’t decide whether I want a single window, windows or no windows in the door.

My biggest dilemma, however, lies in choosing colors for the door, which will be factory-painted. My husband insists on this.

Do I choose one paint color for both sides of the steel-clad entry door? Or, do I select different colors? What color/colors are your door?

My friend Mike, who is a designer, suggested that we choose white for the exterior-facing side since the trim on our new windows will be white. He mentioned to me, however, how he dislikes the white door in his living room. Would I like a white door in my beige living room? I plan to eventually repaint that room.

So, readers, what would you do? I welcome any advice you can offer me on door colors and door windows (or not). And, as long as we’re on the topic of doors, what would you choose in hardware? A knob, handle, pull?

Please hurry with your answers. John from the lumber yard is waiting.

Audrey

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling