PUERTAS

This was the back door leading to the patio when we moved in.

A view from the outside.  Looks like a motel door.  It made the inside very dark. 

 I asked the plumber if he knew anyone who could replace this door and he just happened to have a nephew, Luis, who is an herrero, a blacksmith or wrought iron man.  So Luis came to measure the space late one night (he seems to have at least two jobs).  We said we wanted something simple, with screens and windows that open.  He drew a picture of it, and we said OK.  Several nights later he brought it over, and with the help of his son put it on its side in the hallway.  Then the albañil, Alejandro, came to install it, which entailed setting it into the concrete walls.  The next day the glass man came to find out what kind of glass we wanted--thick, thin, frosted, etc.  We took the thick plain kind.  He came to install it with his son the next day.

So here it is: 

I said it was a work of art, the mother of all doors as Saddam Hussein might have said ("the mother of" part with "wars" instead of "doors.")  Then el sr J started pointing out the minor flaws.  But we still love it, never having had a custom-made steel and wrought iron door before.

What about the other doors in the house, you might ask?   We have two double front doors like the one below:

Think there are enough locks there?  You've got the one that slides into the top, the one that goes down in the floor, and three other ones.  You'd never know that the guy who lived here before was a garbage/recycling collector and hoarder of junk.  Who would want to rob him?

This is our bedroom door.  It's got a protruding hasp for a padlock that I tend to run into in the middle of the night.

The door to the room where we're storing all our clothes, etc. since we have no closets.

Now we're outside on the patio and this is the door to the so-called kitchen.

The bathroom door on whose lintel we bump our heads on the way out:

All of the ugly blue doors are slated for replacement, eventually.

Update on the tv.  This morning I called the service number, worked my way through various menus and finally got a person.  Instead of saying she'd send someone over, she directed me to turn on channel 3.  El sr J was at the 2 controls while I tried to understand what she was telling me to do and communicate her instructions to him.  At some point I told her, voy a llorar (I'm going to cry).  At the unsuccessful end she said to call her back in half and hour and we would try it again.  No way.  I remember trying to do this kind of thing at work with every new computer I got.  I can't do it in English, and I certainly can't do it in Spanish, translating to English to the person with the 2, count them 2, controls, one to the tv and one to the black box.  I don't even want the damn tv.  To be continued.