After years of use and water damage, wood becomes soft, grey and useless. But isn’t that what happens to humans when we get old?

Your skin gets so soft it appears to be melting off your body in sheets of wrinkles, every last hair on your scalp turns a silvery grey, and you are deemed useless in society. You’re gifted early-bird specials at all-you-can-eat buffets and Sunday morning Depends coupons for those who experience urinary or fecal incontinence.

But, so what if old wood is weathered and broken, you’ll be weathered and broken one day too. You’ll also be filled with stories and wisdom, memories and hope-none of which should be wasted, thrown out, or ignored.

Hence my feelings toward the aged wooden screen door my roommate brought home a few weeks ago. She found the abandoned door on the curbside near her part-time job and brought it to our home.

She painted the piece red and we hung it horizontally on the living room wall just above the couch. Days passed and it clung to our barren walls as our new home filled with various other furniture and décor pieces.

It looked great; an eye-catching signature piece for our place.

But the door needed something else, a lagniappe to make her more than just a rescued screen door on our wall.

We wanted to provide the piece with a sense of purpose and functionality and so decided to turn it into a bookshelf. It would be three-tiered to coincide with the existing three panels on what was the upper part of the door.

I’m equipped with large framing nails which are used in building the framework of a house and finishing nails which are the tiny faced nails used for interior woodwork when appearance is important.

Neither of these nails is appropriate for making a small bookshelf out of weathered wood. I also have some spare two-by-fours, a small plastic handled hammer, and a table saw I have no clue how to operate.

I set out with my lacking architectural knowledge and my favorite pair of shades, determined to make a bookshelf out of the dilapidated door.

A week passed and the unfinished door sat on our porch drowning in the New Orleans summer rain. We had to step over it everyday to use the front door.

I was discouraged by the warped wood, my lack of carpentry skills, and the black and blue welt on my left hand.

Everything about this project seemed wrong-my tools, my supplies, my design, my execution was all flawed. But I couldn’t let this project fail.

I finally finished the door after two weeks of struggle and sweat on my front porch. There’s no longer a piece of curbside trash on our wall but rather a sexy, functioning, red bookshelf.

Just because something is old doesn’t mean it’s useless.

I made something exceptional out of what another human threw to the curb-perhaps that’s where we’ll throw him when he’s old.

Janece Bell can be reached at

jnbell@loyno.