Gotta love a project

So, one of my love languages is furniture.  My husband knows this and he keeps me well supplied in  antique/old furniture.  I can't resist a good deal or a fun project.  I've done it all....stripped, refinished, painted, reupholstered, etc.

My latest adventure began when Joel brought this little gem home.  He works a part time job at Lowe's and someone just left it.  He rescued it and brought it home for me to love.  I looks a little sad and was in too bad of shape to be refinished with stain so I decided to paint it. Admittedly, this pained me a little because it is a good piece of Thomasville furniture and it somehow seems wrong to paint "good" furniture.  But, this couldn't be salvaged to stain.

Joel sanded most of the original finish off and glued/nailed the interior to get it structurally sound.

I started with the drawers.  Painted them a pale blue.  Gianna helped me steel wool them after the paint coat to make them nice and smooth.  She is such a great helper.

Then the body got two coats of the blue paint.  This picture was taken in between coats.

After two coats of paint I brushed on a layer of walnut colored stain, gently rubbing off the excess, but leaving stain in the nooks and crannies.  Once the stain dried I added a layer of polyurethane as a sealer.  Final touch was some new hardware and, presto, one gussied up piece of furniture!


Good find + $20 materials = Fun project.

The Greatest of Their Generation?

I used to admire other cultures for the way they valued their elderly.  I often lamented that Americans didn't seem to share this esteem and regard for the folks who lived well into the years. Then I began working at an assisted living facility and my entire perspective changed.

The beauty of such an experience is that you gain exposure to a large cross section of people and personalities in a short amount of time.  As the years go on you can literally interact with hundreds of people.  Many people earn your respect and you put them into the category of seniors who should be admired for their wisdom.  They are the people who make you believe that other cultures get it right.
Others, however, quickly shatter your naivete and make you realize that there is nothing inherently noble about old age; no reason to presume that acumen or enlightenment go hand in hand with the years.

I've come to the conclusion that age is much like alcohol; it aides in revealing your true character.  If you were a kind, generous, thoughtful soul in your youth, most likely you'll be all of those things to a greater degree in your old age.  But for every wise and wonderful character who lives to a ripe old age, there is a jerk who just happened to still be sticking around.   The folks who were selfish, narcissistic, rude in their youth will grow to be all the more so in their longevity.

It's a fascinating study of the human psyche, really; how some seniors maintain their dignity, independence and positive outlook in spite of the challenges that come with advanced age.  Others seem to believe that by living to a ripe old age they've earned the right to do nothing for themselves, to demand that you treat them with respect, even when they show no respect for you or themselves for that matter.  The people who are vile and emotionally decrepit are not due any sort of esteem as a result of the clicking of the calendar.  They have not earned a position of respect simply because they have lived a long time.  But some are worthy of reverence, due deference.  Some are wise and sage and deserve to be placed on a pedestal, set aside so that we can learn from their valuable experiences.  Cherish and value these folks.  Sit with them, listen to their stories.  Appreciate them, learn from them, and live in such a way that some day you will be someone worthy of admiration.

Home sweet home.

 33708 Washington Dr. - Forever Home

This morning my parents drove out of the driveway for their last time as they begin the newest leg of this journey we call life.  Over four decades ago my grand parents purchased this house, nestled in the quiet community of Yucaipa, CA.  It's funny to think about how attached we can become to a house; how it becomes a home.  How, in some ways, the home itself becomes a member of the family.  It's a subtle evolution, unfolding over the years. It begins with simple acts of daily life, then the acts add up and become a sum of memories that we draw upon for the remainder of our days.

My uncles and mom lived there when they graduated from high school, as did I.  We all walked to Valley Elementary and Yucaipa Jr. High from this home.  We all had sleepovers and parties there.  In the late 80's my parents and I moved in to live with my grandmother in a mutually beneficial living situation that helped shape who I am as a person.  Living in a multi-generational household is a wonderful experience, albeit challenging at times.  My grandmother would sit in the living room and watch me dance.  She sat with me at the kitchen table while I did my homework.  The holidays came and went, with them visits from the Brennans, Aunt Mildred and Uncle Jim, various family and family friends; it was never quiet and there was always enough food to feed three armies, but the foundation of family was solidified in that kitchen.  I'd spend the night at the grandparents only to be awakened at 5 am by grandpa to go to breakfast, or even earlier by Uncle Jamie to go body surfing at Doheny Beach.

 Numerous memories and life changing experiences took place in this beautiful backyard:  My parents were married here.  My wedding reception was here.  Mom and John has a fabulous party here to celebrate their marriage.  The neighbors and family spent many a 4th of July sitting on the slope in the yard watching the fireworks show from the Yucaipa Regional Park.  I played Frisbee with my Uncle Jamie here.  I got rides on the family ATV here with Uncle Jon at the helm.  We played fetch with Scooter and Peaches and Bosco and Maggie and Copper.  Thanksgiving dinners on the deck.  Aunt Mildred and Uncle Jim's 50th anniversary party.  I remember the days of looking out over the valley to the sight of endless orange groves, their smudge pots glistening in the sharpness of a winter night.  And later the smell of the blossoms from those groves that signaled the coming of spring.

             

Countless hours spent swimming with Amber; spraying Sun-In in our hair and laying on the deck to get tan.  Night swimming with Becky after we spent the day choreographing to musicals in the living room. Independence Day brought grandpa setting up fireworks down by the pool, then getting chased around the deck by them when they went spinning off into oblivion.   Summer afternoons lounging, my daughter learning to swim, the dogs taking a lap; hours upon hours of my childhood spent swimming until exhaustion all the while gaining a ravenous appetite that could only be quenched by peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (the most perfect of post-pool meals).  

Learning how to drive in the big, gold tuna boat that was my grandmother's Ford Maverick.  Turning 16 and getting one the best presents I've ever received to this day, the beautiful emerald green VW Bug that mom parked behind my bedroom window so I'd be surprised.  Trick or treating to the Martins and Rodgers and DeJagers houses.  The pre-Halloween ritual of setting up  dozens of ceramic pumpkins in the front window to illuminate the way for the neighborhood kids.  Getting the mail became a chore every fall as you'd walk across the grass that was filled with pecans, bruising your feet along the way.  Then the gang of black birds would descend upon the yard, gathering up their little shelled bombs, dropping them onto the driveway in the hopes of cracking them open for a treat.  Springtimes were spent watching my dad work on cars in the garage as he listened to Vin Scully on the radio, running lunch out to him like a dutiful daughter. 

Bringing Gianna home from the hospital, placing her in the arms of our family matriarch is one of the greatest memories I will ever have.  The following six years filled with her laughter and tears and directions aimed at Papa as she taught him how to dance.  My girl dragging a chair up to the kitchen sink, standing on tip toe to be tall enough to help her Dede make a cake.  Year after year, life after life filled the rooms of our house as our hearts were filled by the comfort of home.  

In this home I learned from the greats how to be a woman, a wife, a mother, sharing and cherishing all that life sends our way; weddings, births, deaths and everything in between.  The memories are abundant and I embrace each and every one because this house, this home helped define who I am.  It was the rock, the one constant throughout all of life's ups and downs.  And although it is no longer the address of OUR family, it will continue to be a foundation, the heart and soul of family; the frame that will encompass the memories for the folks who move in this weekend.  May it give them as much security and pleasure as it has given us these last 42 years.  It may be made of wood and plaster and stucco but 33708 Washington Dr. lives and breathes as plainly as any of the other loves of my life.  

Thanks for the memories. On that note, Dede and Papa, hurry up and get here to we can start making a new volume of memories.