Where is a dustpan when you need it?

floor refinishing in progress - PL

 

Picture this. . . No, you had to be there.
 

Justin the main floor refinisher, asked to borrow a dust pan, saying his was 'somewhere in that messy van out there.' I have two and had recently used one. But could I put my hand on it? No. I gave him a small one without its crumb brush. "Sorry," I said. "They're around here somewhere."

    

Guess where I found it? Perfectly camouflaged on top of the dirty dishes piled in one side of the sink. Duh! If it had been a snake...

 

Best-Friend-Forever asked via email, "Are things still topsy-turvy at your house?" The only truthful answer was "Yes." The piano was lifted (not rolled--the dining room floor finish hasn't had time to 'cure'--it takes a month) into the dining room. One sofa was carried to the back porch and placed on the library table. The loveseat was carried to a back bedroom. The space heater was in my bedroom. And four bookcases were on the front porch.

 

The living room and office were closed off with plastic sheeting instead of the old French doors that used to hang there. Justin and Travis worked Thursday and Friday, then came back on Saturday morning to apply the stain and one coat of sealer.

 

"Can we leave one of the ACs on to speed up the drying," one of them asked. They were shadows through the sheeting, but I learned to tell them apart by the timbre of their voices.

 

"We'll be back Monday to put the last coat on, then Tuesday, we'll move the furniture back."

 

But what about Sunday? I'd not thought ahead when stashing stuff in my bedroom. My closet was hemmed in. My blouses were imprisoned. Thus began a delicate dance. Well--forget 'delicate.' I manhandled the space heater lightly--the new carpet, remember? Then I wiggled through a small space and pushed a cart full of file folders away. Before I knew it, the folders full of poetry and short-story stuff came spilling out--until I used my knees and arms to push back the assault and stabilize it.

 

Moving the rocking chair (one of several Laster artifacts) was easy. Voila! By stretching mightily, I pulled off the hanger with the shell and shirt I wanted.

 

Monday morning, Justin showed up, looked around then said through the sheeting, "Ms. Pat, we've got an issue."

 

"What?"

 

"The sealer's not dry yet." He pulled down the sheeting.

 

"Even after two days and the ACs running?"

 

He nodded, and showed me how he could tell. So we were a day behind schedule. Turned out, humidity from afternoon showers was the culprit.

 

I supposed I could get along one more day in this topsy-turvy world. I did and today--Thursday--I'm still amazed at what old floors can look like with a little sanding, filling in the crevices, staining, sealing (drying) then adding another coat of sealer and top coating. I am loathe to put the other furniture back. It will hide the glory and shine of the floor.

 

Now to search for that other dustpan.