See that door to the right? That's my front door. The front door that's been driving me buggy the past few weeks. The door is from the late 1800s and it's made of wood ... wood that swells more and more as the humidity rises.

Well, it's been humid lately and my door is swelling.

Last year that door swelled so much it was impossible to open for a few days. Impossible. Luckily there was no fire requiring us to run out the front door, as Jim and I surely would have perished. (Luckily there was no fire requiring us to run out the back door, either, but at least that would have been feasible.)

So my door is swollen, which really isn't that big of a deal. There are far worse things in the world -- even in just daily living -- to be concerned about.

But the weird thing is that this door underscores a bizarre theme I've noticed running through my life for the past month or so. A completely unintentional theme. A theme of doors.

In years past, I didn't think too much about doors. Except, of course, when the girls liked to slam doors as a show of force when they didn't get their way. Or when those slammed doors were removed from the hinges to punish the girls for slamming them -- or because they lost the privilege of having doors and the privacy they provide, privacy that made it impossible to know what questionable things the girls were doing behind those closed doors. Or when I would march into the bathroom and slam and lock the door to keep myself in and Jim out when he really cussed me off. (Boy, I really know how to show him!)

Other than those far-too-common times, though, doors weren't much of an issue. Now, for some unknown reason, they figure prominently on my to-do list, in my conversations, in various facets of my life. And I'm not talking just about the swollen door that makes it difficult for me to go out front to pick up my daily newspaper or my mail.

On my to-do list is "put door on Craigslist," for we have this wonderful glass sliding door in perfect condition that someone surely would love to install in their home. But I don't feel like dealing with the Craigslist crowd right now, so that door hangs over my head. (Figuratively, of course. It's actually leaning against a wall in the garage.)

Then there's Bubby and doors -- more specifically, his discovery of the power of a closed door. Megan called recently to say that Bubby has taken to rounding up Roxy, taking her to his room and shutting the door to play hours-long games of make-believe with his buddy. When Megan opens the door to check on him, he cries, "No, Mommy, shut door!" Which she does, for Bubby's just innocently exercising his imagination, not torturing poor Roxy behind the closed door; Megan's sure of that, as the baby monitor now comes in handy to keep tabs on his daily doings, not just those of the night.

Another odd door thing is that, with no intention whatsoever, Jim and I recently watched "When You're Strange," the 2009 rockumentary about none other than, you guessed it, The Doors. Then Jim watched "Classic Albums: The Doors." (He's more into The Doors than I am.)

Then there's the bizarre phrase Jim keeps uttering; not like a crazy person or anything, just when the time seems right ... to him. Maybe he got it from the recent documentaries; maybe he made it up. I'm not sure, but it's about doors. "The door has been provided ... all you have to do is walk through it," he keeps saying.

What the cuss is that all about? When I worry about new challenges, he says it. When the girls complain about unhappy situations, he says it. When the dogs want to come in at night, he says it. Again and again, Jim waxes philosophical about doors and walking on through them.

(Okay, so I made that up about the dogs. But he has said it -- and continues to say it -- to the rest of us, in a variety of situations.)

I don't know what it means. I don't know why doors are figuring so prominently in my life right now, and I don't know why Jim -- after nearly 30 years together and never saying it before -- has started telling me to walk through one.

So maybe the answer, the resolution, the clarity will come once I find that door of which Jim speaks, the door that all these other doors are directing me to. Maybe good things await on the other side of that door ... if only I open it and walk on through.

My only hope? That when I find that cuss door, it's not one made of wood. Because with all the humidity we've had lately, that certainly would not bode well for my journey.

One final, minor note (hence the smaller font): All the door photos here are of doors in my house. See? My life is nothing but doors, doors, doors. Well, that and stairs, stairs, and more stairs.

Today's question:

What door have you recently walked through, a door to something exciting, challenging, foreboding or fun?