So
five years ago, when we built our current house, I finally got my wish – a
2.5-car garage with automatic doors.
The
automatic doors, however, were my husband’s idea.
“You
don’t want to pull up to the garage in the middle of a blizzard and then have
to get out in the cold to open a heavy garage door, do you?” my husband had
said. “With automatic doors, you just sit in the warmth of your car and press
the button on the remote, and the door opens – you know, like ‘open sesame’ in
Ali Baba.”
“But
what if I drive my car halfway into the garage and the door comes crashing down
on top of it?” I’d asked him, not completely sold on the automatic door idea.
“That
won’t happen,” he said. “The doors have sensors, so when something is under
them as they are coming down, they’ll go right back up again to prevent any
damage.”
So
I agreed and the automatic doors were installed. There were two ways to open them. One was a doorbell-like button
for each door, inside the garage on the wall next to the house door. So the
minute I came out of the house, I could push a button to open either garage
door. Then there were the “his and hers” remote controls – a separate one for
each door, which my husband and I each carried in our cars.
There
never were any problems with the doors…that is, until this year.
First
of all, on my side of the garage, water started leaking under the door whenever
it rained. One night, it rained and then the temperatures dropped below
freezing. When I came out of the house the next morning and pushed the button
to open the door, I heard a noise that sounded like a meat grinder with a fork
stuck in it, and the door didn’t budge. That’s when I realized it was frozen to
the ground. I pushed the button to stop it just in time to save the motor from
suffering a painful, premature death.
Then,
my dog, Willow, learned that as the garage door was closing and was about three
inches from the floor, if she stuck her paw under it, the sensor would open it
again, and she could dash out while it still was too low to the ground for me
to get underneath it to go chase her.
The
first time Willow did it, I was stunned, mainly because the vet once told me,
“Sorry to say this, but your dog will never be a rocket scientist.”
I
was convinced Willow’s stunt had been just a fluke, so once again, just to test
her, I let her out into the garage just as the door was almost fully closed.
She ran right over to it, stuck her paw under it, it rose and she escaped. So
now she’s not allowed in the garage unless the doors are fully down.
But
recently something happened with the doors that actually had me so spooked, I
was afraid to go out to the garage at all. Since my husband passed away two
years ago and I sold his van, his side of the garage has been empty, so I
rarely have any need to open that door.
Two
weeks ago, when I went out there, however, I noticed the door on his side was
wide open. I couldn’t figure out how it had opened because someone would have
had to come inside the garage to push the button by the house door – or have
access to my husband’s remote, which was in the house.
Three
more times, the same thing happened. I went out to the garage and the door on
my husband’s side was open. I started to wonder if I’d said or done anything
really embarrassing and he was haunting me for it, trying to send me a subtle
message.
The
other night, as I was getting ready to go to bed, I stuffed a few things into
my purse and put it away. Suddenly, I heard the garage door open.
I
grabbed my dog, Raven (a.k.a. “Jaws”), and took her with me to check the
garage. I had no idea what I’d find out there, but I prayed Raven would be
bigger and meaner than whatever it was. I expected to see a bear leaning
against my car…or a burglar with a crowbar he’d used to pry open the door.
But
there was nothing unusual out there. Confused, I closed the door.
I
began to think about a crime show I’d seen on TV where a burglar explained that
certain garage-door remotes will open a variety of doors, so he’d drive through
neighborhoods late at night and press his remote until a door opened. Then he’d
rob the place.
Let’s
just say I didn’t sleep much that night.
The
next day, I had to go to the bank, so I grabbed my purse and went out to the
garage. Just as I opened the house door, I saw the garage door on my husband’s
side rising right before my eyes.
There
was only one explanation, I thought. It had to be a short circuit. I decided
I’d better call an electrician when I got back from the bank. I climbed into my
car and tossed my purse onto the seat. Once again the garage door on my
husband’s side moved.
That’s
when the solution to the mystery finally dawned on me. The night before the
door began its spell of randomly opening and closing, I’d gone out with
friends, who picked me up. I’m in the habit of entering and leaving the house
through the garage door on my side, but the remote for that door was clipped
onto the visor in my car, and I didn’t feel like removing it. So I grabbed my
husband’s remote instead, thinking it didn’t matter which door it opened, as
long as I was able to get into the garage when I returned home.
I
shoved the remote into a little side pocket on my purse. And after using it to
get in that night, I put it back into my purse and forgot about it.
So
every time I touched or hit my purse on that side, I unknowingly activated the
remote.
Funny,
but since my discovery, the door hasn’t magically opened again.
But
Willow “Houdini” Breslin is patiently waiting for the moment when it does, even
if it’s only a couple inches.