Stripping.
I eyed the bookshelf, resting by the dumpster in my friend’s alley. Attempting to mentally maintain its proportions, I turned to my little Saturn sedan. I cocked my head to the right, puckered my lips and wrinkled up my nose, doing some internal measuring. With a sudden determination, I popped my trunk, pushed down my backseats, pulled my front seats all the way forward and began praying as I slid the bookshelf into my car.
I am not sure how that friggen thing fit into my car or how I was still able to close the trunk, but somehow it worked. I thanked my friend for the bookshelf and skedaddled to Hobby Lobby for sandpaper and paint.
And that’s how it all started.
Next thing I knew, I needed a power sander. My life was not going to be complete until I had a power sander. I went to the De-Pot and bought paint stripper, goggles, facemask, and two varieties of power sanders.
By the time I arrived back at my house from my manly-De-Pot trip, I had also acquired two bookshelves, a dresser and a half a dozen turquoise wine glasses from a sketchy-ass garage sale down the street from my house. I lugged everything back in Leonard (the little Saturn that could) and set all the furniture up in my garage.
I began diligently stripping, peeling, scratching, scraping, scrubbing and rubbing finish off of each piece of furniture. Slowly but surely, the ugly, old finish would come off – usually not without a fight, and sometimes only after a commitment to a few processes of repeating the abrasive stripping process.
Once the finish is off, the fun part begins – the plugging in and turning on of the power sanders. This is the preparation for a fresh, new start – once the ugly old finish has finally been let go of, you have to get down to the pure bare rawness of the most organic state. Once you’ve smoothed out the rough edges, softened the surface and prepared the pores to take in something new, then you can decide what color you want to stain the wood. I chose purple.
My ol’ pal Sarah came over the other day to try out my newfound hobby. She stripped a bookshelf while I sanded the dresser. Then she sanded the bookshelf while I stained the dresser. We both worked mostly without talking, as it’s sort of hard to hear each other when you a) are talking into a mask covering your mouth and nose and b) when two power sanders are on.
Each time Sarah completed a step, she would pull back her goggles and drop her mask beneath her chin. “This is fun!” she’d say, stepping back to survey her work and wipe her forehead with her arm. I’d smile, then nod, realizing she wouldn’t know if I was smiling or not.
“I know!” I pushed my goggles to my forehead and stacked my mask on top of it. “It’s such an empowering feeling to know that I’m giving these pieces a new life.”
I love looking at a piece of furniture and seeing beyond its tired exterior. Watching the paint stripper bubble up underneath all of the old crusty finish with the scraping tool in hand and just waiting… patiently… for the right time to begin peeling off the old never gets old. I don’t even mind when a little flick of the stripper flies onto my skin. Sure, it hurts like a sonofabitch on my flesh – but making a transformation isn’t always rainbows and unicorns. And once I finish and take off my mask to take a big exhale, it feels like the dresser/bookshelf/chair is taking a deep breath with me. Grateful to have space around it, even though it is raw and tender.
That’s where I am in my life. I’ve finally worn through the old finish and am slowly peeling off the layers. I can take a deep breath through every pore of my body and it feels so good. There is space all around my heart and I’m ready to begin the process of refining this raw space, this vulnerable space, this powerful seed space of my radical growth. Who knows what I’ll pull in – when I’m ready. I’m sure it will be something as rich, regal, and out of the ordinary as purple.
I walk away from my garage exhausted, filthy and smelly but feeling sweetly powerful. I’ve never been one to just walk away from a relationship, a job, anything without giving it a second chance, a third chance – a million chances to be everything I wanted it to be, hoped it would be… knew it could be. It’s been both a blessing and a curse, I suppose, never knowing if I would be able to inspire those around me or simply wear myself out with hopefulness.
I’m giving these pieces another chance – and feeling safe in that I can do the same thing for myself.
As Kenny Rogers has always said, “You gotta know when to hold’m, know when to fold’m, know when to walk away, and know when to run.” But I’d like to make an addition – you also gotta know when to power sand.
You also gotta know when to strip, but that’s a loaded comment and applicable on many different levels. That’s a whole other blog.