It’s been ages since I’ve blogged, and we’re not going into it. I’ve moved, jumped into a new career path and embraced single kick-ass mom status with all I’ve got. Let’s just say that in order to do life well sometimes you need a little therapy. For me, one form of therapy has been rehabbing vintage furniture. I love it and happen to be pretty good at it, or at least I thought I was. A long stretch of dark and wet Seattle weather had me desperate for both distraction and some form of joy. What resulted was what my boss would call a “learning opportunity.” Following will be this month’s DI-Don’t.
This weekend, while I waited for the rain to stop long enough to get the Christmas lights off the house (it’s been rainy, OKAY!?) I decided to refinish my grandmothers bedside tables. My beautiful grandmother left behind a few pieces of furniture and these were passed on to me after years of use and the unfortunate combination of time and neglect. The finish on these babies was non-existent in some places, allowing moisture to creep in. Despite the charming cigarette burn marks and my penchant for restoring furniture rather than painting it, I decided instead to do a combination of restoration and rejuvenation. Let’s get to it:
This is this the beginning of our tale of woe:
So you can see how there was massive room for improvement. I happen to like my finishes like I like my dog; more of a medium tan with some accents. Look at his face! I love that you can read the worry in his eyes. Is she really going to attempt this in a weekend?
Yes Peanut. She is.
Let’s talk supplies. I used a fine sand paper, and went with the grain (duh). The borrowed sander made the process much faster and before long I was on to Murphy’s Oil Soap.
Mid-oil soap massage and cigar (homage to Nana) my contractor who was there at the time walked past and said, “You’d better wipe those off well or the moisture will mess up your paint job. It’ll crack.”
In literature, this is what is called “foreshadowing.” Never one to turn down a trusted professionals advice, I began thoroughly drying the tables and brought them inside to sit in the warm house, going as far as adding a space heater to cook out the moisture.
What I should have done was waited until the next day to paint. Being that prudence is not a strength of mine and overachievement always the goal, I soldiered on. Do you know what you get when you combine impatience, hubris and cold wet weather?
CRACKLE PAINT. As in, “Hey Pioneer Woman-did you do that shit yourself? That’s purdy.” My beloved boyfriend bless his heart, asked me if I did it on purpose. Said it looked cool. I haven’t decided how to address our stylistic differences yet, but knew that I needed to address the error of my ways immediately if I wanted storage for us both.
It’s back to the sanding board, and I’ll be starting my Sunday with prayer and a trip to Home Depot. I’ll keep you informed about how this saga ends…stay tuned!