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.

 



Finally, the front two rooms are empty. Whew!

What I had to clean off before the floor refinishers came-PL

 
Today,Travis and Justin are back (after the holiday weekend and doing another job) and ready to begin refinishing hardwood floors in the living room and sunroom/office. Mostly Justin.
 

Starting on July 4, with five days to clear these two rooms of furniture, I went through another Xerox box-lid full of clippings from ’98 and ’99. (My recycling bin included a sheaf of discarded, yellowed, stapled articles on places and people in Arkansas around the mid-‘30s)
 

Instead of writing “sequel” on what I clip today, “story” was written on those. That was before I had the chutzpah and leading to call my story a novel.
 

I got to thinking: was all this early effort/thought/hope/anticipation/preparation for nothing? Now that I’m throwing all of it away? I have to think positively and say, no, it was seeding for the possibilities.
 

I kept columns from John Robert Starr, Mike Royoko, Erma Bombeck, Charles Allbright and Frank Fellone; an occasional day’s comics: Peanuts, Snuffy Smith, Baby Blues, Mother Goose & Grimm, Kudzu, Marvin, Jump Start, Frank and Ernest and Cathy.
 

I even found a chapter intended to be included in A Journey of Choice that I might fit into the sequel.
 

To lighten the load, I went through all the drawers of the two desks, a buffet-used-for-writing-stuff, filing cabinets, book cases, tossing as I went, then taking one armload of keepers at a time--to some empty spot.
 

July 6 - At Sunday’s ending, I’d made progress, but still had a lot to do. Grandson Billy thought he’d come home later then go clothes shopping tomorrow, but he called and after working all day and said he was too tired. Fortunately, he doesn’t drive when he’s tired. But could I please send him some money for new clothes and shoes? He was to interview for a job at DeGray Lodge on Tuesday. Certainly, and I sent along his current driver’s insurance cards at the same time. Though he lives in Arkadelphia, his mail comes here.
 

July 7 -  Monday. Daughter Annamarie and granddaughter Emma came over—the former to mow (we trade off favors) and the latter to help in any way possible. Emma filled and hung the bird feeders, then updated the unused solar lights. After discovering the eerie blue light on the back porch was those lights,  I placed them in flower containers.
 

We moved two pieces of heavy furniture--Granddaddy Noah's hand-built library table and a TALL bookcase. Thanks to Dennis Patton’s dollies, the tasks were a tad easier. After the two left—and a nap—I continued to cart magazine holders full of journals into the back bedroom.
 

Before that day was over, I had cleaned out the office—except for the vining epesia in the south window.
 

July 8 - Tuesday. I worked in the living room. Bookcases had to be emptied (You shoul
d see the kitchen anteroom, the hallway and the back bedrooms), chairs and lamp tables moved.

 

July 9 - Wednesday. My birthday, so nothing much got done. But, oh, I had a wonderful day.
 

 

Today, I stand in front of the buffet shown in the picture but shorn of all the stuff on it. Like Hemingway was said to have done, I typed standing up, my current paperwork, calendar, books to review, etc. at my fingertips. Who knows, I may like this arrangement.

 

 

 



I vowed I'd never move again. I lied.

When grandson/ward Billy was 16, he and I moved into this 80-year-old family home. After renting for too many years to bother counting, this move was my last on this earth. Not KB's by any means, but mine.

Finally, after eight years, I decided the floors needed attention. Starting with the three bedrooms and hall, Mullins Carpet made quick work of replacing Mom's choice of 'mint julep' to my choice of 'celery'--to match the paneling. I've written already about having to move all the things I could. At the time, I didn't think about 'moving.' I just stashed stuff on the back porch, in the attic, stuffed bureaus full of small things. I liked the spaces it left so much that I was loath to put things back.

Next, I decided these hardwood floors in the three-room, open living area needed refinishing. At some point in this house's history, two sets of French doors had been removed-- hence, the openness. The hinge hardware is still attached to the door frames and the doors are in the attic.
Mullins came out again, measured, calculated when the refinisher might get to the job. July at least, Alvin said.

Good. That would give me time to move a lifetime's worth of books--mine, plus Mom's and Dad's--Fostoria glassware, Avon's Cape Cod ruby glass, a collection of blue glass, bookcases, clip notebooks, journals stored in magazine storage boxes, two 2-drawer filing cabinets, a 5-shelf bookcase sitting on Granddaddy's handmade library table--the list goes on.

And where, pray tell, shall I move them?  There's still room in the attic (the last choice), on the back porch and in the shed (down the steps, across the driveway).

I'll stack and stuff the old breakfast room beyond the kitchen where the cats feed with as much as it will hold. In cabinets and cupboards that still have any room, I'll rearrange and add what I can.

I'm not renting a storage unit. I'm not having a yard sale. I am having overnight guests, but that's no problem since the bedrooms have new carpet. I will have to hang curtains in the back room. Don't want a guest to have to look out on a back porch used mostly for storage.

Speaking of looking out on stuff, the neighbors who built a privacy fence between us left a 12-inch space between our properties. Guess what they are storing BEHIND THEIR FENCE AND IN MY FACE?? White gutter downspouts. Oh, the festering gall. I wonder if they're doing it on purpose?

Placing containered plants in front of the offensive glaring white helped only a little bit. I'm still working on a solution.