Well hello again, reader. Long time no see.
It's been a slow movement of sorts, this desire to resurrect my craftiness (and writerly self). You know how life gets you--so many ideas, so little perceived time. But the itch persisted just as I was moving into a new apartment a few months ago, and it coincided beautifully with my new-ish fixation on thrifting things. I must admit that this fixation relies a lot upon theory. In theory, thrifting is the most wonderfully awesome thing ever--you find all of these cool, funkdafied, vintage pieces to wear, to sit upon, with which to decorate one's abode. In my reality, however, Saturday mornings are most usually spent reveling in little pockets of "sleep-in" time, or work. And thrifting during the week? Well, that's an activity best reserved for my imaginary independently wealthy self. You know she who's also one of those ladies who lounges in neighborhood coffee shops or runs along the Schuylkill River at 11am.
Luckily for me I have a fantastic friend, Melody, who is an amazing thrifter, the Dowager Duchess of Dumpster Diving, if you will. For years, YEARS, I've been a-hankering for a sideboard. Sporadically I scoured various thrift shops and saw hutches and lesser sideboards until one day Mel regaled me with tales of her latest bounty. She just couldn't let it sit there on the side of the road; she had to procure it. She had plans for it, plans that quickly went by the wayside when she realized how enormous it was, and this was when Stevie Winwood spoke to me. He said, "When you see a chance, take it..."
"Oooh, well what are you going to do with it?" "Oh, I don't know. Ted and I wheeled it to the side of the road. I just don't have room for it." "What?! Can I have it?" "Really? Danita, it's huge. HUGE." "Send me a picture."
In my original vision it was going to reside in my kitchen, but then I downsized from a 2BR to a 1BR and discovered that rooms get a little less, um, defined in smaller quarters. So I spent weeks hemming and hawing over where I was going to put this thing--in my new kitchen or my living room.
Of course--of course--I invested far more time in imagining where the thing would go and what colors it should be (navy, royal purple, gray, white antique-y distressed 'n such, black, naturally stained, navy, some lighter captain-y blue color...) than, IDK, fixin' the sucker up, but that's just 'cause I am a MASTER PROCRASTINATOR. Like 2 months went by with me collecting color swatches and consulting with anyone who would listen. I devoured Apartment Therapy posts and library books (thanks again, Mel). I was steeping myself in New Yankee Workshop tea, but still kept giving the piece the ultimate side-eye. Y'all know I didn't know nuffin' 'bout birthin' no refinished furniture!
But then a funny thing happened. I ordered a sofa and realized very quickly that the one workspace I had to spruce this behemoth was the very place the new sofa was going to live.
Ruh.
Roh.
So I called out upon my universe with a woe begotten Lord Help and hallelou, the crafty doers showed up! I quickly realized that going the "stripper" route was not for me. A) Because I don't own any Lucite heels. A) Because my apartment has gorgeous hardwood floors and a work homie and the Home Depot man gave me ultra-Chile Please faces when I asked about using them. "This stuff is very caustic. It will eat through almost anything. You only use this when you're outside in a well ventilated place, where if it spills, splatters or splashes on anything nearby it won't matter..." "So basically I can only use this in Mordor?" "Ha. Good one. Yeah, just come away from there. You'll probably be better off sanding. It's a lot of work, but ..."
[There is no B). I don't care, grammar gods. I DON'T CARE. I got A's in all my English classes and can name all of my teachers. We're even.]
So after I lotioned and consulted with both of my elbows, I went about learning all I could about sanding which basically was just me asking the one person I ask anytime I even think of doing anything crafty: Crafty Constance. I was honestly trying to lure her over to show me what I needed to do, because I am a very visual learner ...
[Insert a shoutout to my high school geometry and calculus teacher, Carol Wade, with her, "If you can see it, you can do it!" She went 1-for-2 with me. Geometry was a breeze and fun. Calculus? Mufasa shivers.]
Anywho, she immediately responds with, "I have a sander!" This was the equivalent to asking the church for an Amen and gettin' that trusty deaconess up and ready to shout with her white hanky in hand. Praise Him! Then the Universe showed out when my friends Jen and Eric handed me another sander. I thought one of them was going to come with it, because as much as I love the Karate Kid I couldn't fathom going "wax on, wax off" and double-fisting some sanders. Did I mention how clumsy I am?
And so, armed with book learnin', a one-week deadline (I also work 2 jobs), one unsuspecting living room and one set of new, bless-their-hearts neighbors I went to work:
Oh yes. Elbows greased I was ready. WIth two sanders and a stack of erry kind of paper? Honey hush. You couldn't tell me nothing ... bout no damn veneers/finishing layers/forcefields of awful. UGH! I went in hard. I mean, I Sheryl Sandberg'd on boffadose sanders, and to the left, to the left was as far as I got.
Shiyid.
I found myself wandering into Ace Hardware on Ridge Avenue lookin' like Maleficent after her wings got cut off, and found me a chisel. I went back home with said chisel, picked up my hammer and put on my Terry McMillan attitude. You know the one that Angela Bassett had right when she set her cheatin' husband's clothes on fahr.
Who's 2 Legit 2 Quit now, veneer?!
I felt so accomplished y'all. This took me 'bout 4 evenings altogether and two packs of coarse and medium sandpaper. I worked from 6-9pm with my main squeeze, www.wrti.org, as my sole accompaniment. I swear to goodness, one day when I get my Darlene Shiley on, I'm going to give so much to public radio (and television! Hey New Yankees!). Those nightly jazz sessions calmed me the kcuf down. Everytime I went full Metallica on this piece, my man Bob would hit me with some Ella, Nancy, Miles or Coltrane and I'd make it mellow.
I sat and drank half a six pack while I admired my handiwork, and then I realized that I had to go Deion Sanders on this mug. For you non-football loving souls, that means it was PRIME TIME!
I decided to leave the innards as they were because ain't nobody got time to go full ham on all this shit I like for things to have character. I used 2 cans of Rustoleum grey primer, and in true feed-me-Seymour fashion, this sapsucker used all 2 cans and still acted like it needed 2 more. This stuff is awesome. It dried overnight which allowed me to start painting the very next evening:
I know what you're thinking. "That ain't nan color that she listed above." Well, sometimes people like me opt for the Forrest Gump painting experience. I didn't know what I was going to get. I eenie-meanied a swatch, handed it to Home Depot Man, gave him 6 Alfalfa shrugs when he started asking me about glosses and walked home with a pint of this here satisfactory, I'm-running-out-of-time! blue. And you know what?
I was nearly done, y'all. And then I remembered I still needed to hook up the knobs and pulls. By this time I was not tryna be that girl that's always up in Home Depot so I googled, "Home polishing remedies" and Google told me to squirt some ketchup on those ol' brass doodads and shine 'em on up.
Now iffin you din't know, me and Google's right tight. PEAS and CARROTS. I talk to Google like he's human, and he answers me better than most humans. If I were to have Lars and the Real Girl tendencies, Google would be my man. Anyways, we were puttin' the cope in copacetic until him done told me some hot mess about that ketchup that my all-greased-out elbows ain't had no time for!
Shiyid.
Ketchup must work on nearly new brass. Not brass that's done survived Grey Gardens and a couple of rainstorms and years of neglect. Naw. It was time for me to return to my third home, Home Depot, for some Brasso (and some screws 'cause some of the originals had lost their gripping gumption). I still had to tell my elbows, "Turn down for what?!" but thank goodness for extremely harsh, suspect-smelling chemicals. It's not often I'd like to get high on housework, but there I was, and then this happened:
I knowed there was a gawd. I finished her. My sidepiece, Lady Rolle-and-Storeit. Isn't she lovely?
That is the long of it. As you can see I've (still) got some cord-wrangling to do, but she's as pretty is as pretty does. There's a LOT of character in that front piece, where the 2 drawers are, because Metallica > Miles in the Chisel Wars, but I kind of like it. It's battled-scarred and a li'l rough around the edges, but strong, resilient and beautiful.