Homage to Love

The letter was written on May 21, 1945 by a smitten 17-year old young woman named Ella. I am without doubt that the young man to whom she wrote the letter was equally smitten because a little more than five years later, my father was born.

I was browsing on Craigslist last week, and I happened upon two gorgeous pieces selling at a price that was, in my opinion, way, way too low. They were both Dixie pieces, though not a matching set. An hour later, I was loading one in my car (these pieces were massive, so I had to return the next day to retrieve the other).

The dresser was in fantastic condition, but the tall chest of drawers had more than a few spots of missing veneer. The ever-so-slight scar on my left hand reminded me that stripping the veneer was not an option. Painting over the blemishes wouldn't solve the problem any more than a 2-inch thick coat of make-up solves acne. I obsessed about a solution while I tried to fall asleep that night. Then, on turned the light bulb. Old love letters!

I love handwritten letters. I love handwritten anything. I think it adds so much to the meaning of what is written. And I've always been fascinated by the penmanship of old, so I knew I wanted that to cover the drawer faces. As I searched images, I somehow stumbled upon an article that mentioned text in love letters remains the property of the writer or his/her heirs. It's copyrighted. Since I had no desire to steal someone else's work, I felt stumped.  Then I remembered that I had scanned some love letters my grandparents exchanged before they married. I'd rather use their letters anyway, so for once, I was grateful to read legalese.

I'll spare the details of the process, but it involved many printed copies on heavy paper, scissors, Mod Podge, and dark wax. The process was tedious, but as I printed, cut, and glued, I read and re-read the excerpts. They had known each other for only two months, and my grandmother was already wondering if my grandfather would mind if their children could be raised Catholic. She was either pushing the hard sell, or they were already very much in love. Knowing them, I choose to think the latter. Here is the end result......

Oh, and here is the other dresser......

I am quite pleased with the end results, but I've had this nagging feeling of guilt. I have wondered if either of them would be displeased with me using their love letter. I've concluded that my grandmother would be reluctantly happy, but my grandfather would be miffed. I knew him for over 30 years, but I knew very little about him. I know he was private, and I know his spirit and will to live died when his Ella died. Grief damages all of us.

It was a storybook romance, and though the fairy tale ended sadly, the romantic in me likes to think that in some far away place where time doesn't exist, they are together, laughingly shaking their heads at the chest of drawers that I bought on Craigslist.

My Disdain for Christmas

I don't remember exactly when I started to loathe Christmas, but as the years have passed since that day, the list of reasons why I don't like Christmas has grown. I'll never remember each and every one for this post, but I'm in the mood to vent.

First of all, it's a religious holiday, and though I'm spiritual, and I kinda (wholeheartedly when I need to be bailed out of a jam) believe in God, lines are drawn when it comes to immaculate conceptions, mangers, and other fun stories invented by people who had their own agendas. The irony of a religious holiday creating this much stress is not lost on me.

The commercialization of Christmas is embarrassing, and I am ashamed that I walk with the sheeple. It really is exponentially worse than the commercially-invented holidays like Valentine's Day and Mother's Day. Don't get me wrong. I have zero issues with retailers taking advantage of this. I am a die-hard Libertarian, after all. I would love to completely exclude myself from this nonsense, but one would be held in higher regard if they kicked a dog than if they bought nothing for loved ones on Christmas. I fall in line as little as possible. My best friends and favorite family members give each other the best gift of all. Nothing. We each spare the other from the stress.

The stress. The fucking stress. I don't stress about what to buy. My sister tells me what to get my niece and nephew, and I buy wine for the few others to whom I feel obligated. No, the real stress for me comes from pretending to like something. I dread those moments. I know, I know.....it's the thought that counts. So tell me. Exactly how much thought did you put into buying this Mr. Rogers' sweater? When have you ever seen me wear a fucking sweater? Not only must I feign happiness and gratitude, but now I have to drive to Goodwill to drop off this present.

The fucking music. I've yet to meet one person who likes Christmas music, but there it is, playing everywhere. Nothing makes me want to get out of a store faster than Christmas music. Not babies crying, not country music, and not morbidly obese people driving their carts....nothing. Tired songs, some remade by the latest hipsters, that remain agonizingly annoying. Perhaps I'm the exception rather than the rule, but was there a study that concluded annoying Christmas music encourages shoppers to spend? Maybe it encourages shoppers not to check prices because that would add seconds to the torture. There must be a reason, but I don't care enough to research it.

I feel better, though there are others like Salvation Army bell-ringers, Black Friday idiots, traffic, being around family members I don't like. On the bright side, I'm enjoying not having to drive to Louisiana and listen to my ex-father-in-law talk about nothing for hours on end for the fourth consecutive Christmas. Life could be worse. On that note, have a Merry Christmas.

Willingness to Walk Away

We have all found ourselves in those situations when we felt compelled to buy something even though the evidence available at the time suggested there was either zero value or negative value. "But I really want it!" We buy it, and we end up lamenting that decision. Whether one wants to call it buyer's remorse or cognitive dissonance, the end result is the same. We aren't completely happy with the purchase. Nearly all purchases based on emotions or whims end with this feeling.

While shopping for pieces to paint, I have no choice but to be completely disciplined when it comes to buying. The few times I've made emotional purchases (invariably because the piece is so gorgeous), I've put a ton of work into a piece only to break even or lose money. The best approach for me is to not only mentally set the highest price I'm willing to pay ahead of time, but to be willing to walk away if that price isn't met. 

There's a buyer and a seller. Why are they selling such a gorgeous piece in the first place? Maybe they need the money. Maybe it just doesn't work with the other decor. Maybe they are moving. It helps to know why they are selling, but for this entry, the important thing to know is that regardless of the why, these people want this piece of furniture gone.

Both parties in a transaction have a fear of loss. The buyer is afraid that someone else is going to come along, buy the piece, turn it into something gorgeous, and quintuple their money. The seller is afraid that if they don't take the first decent offer, they are going to be stuck with the piece, or ending up dumping it for less than the first decent offer. Conquering the fear of loss from the buyer's side is the only way to make the time and effort profitable. There will always be another piece to buy, so why get too bothered if I don't get something I want? Be willing to walk away if you can't get your price!

Why in the hell am I writing about this? I encountered two vastly different scenarios during this last week, and it made me think about the psychology involved when buying and selling on Craigslist or within Facebook groups.

The first scenario started when I saw this picture on Craigslist....

I had to have it because the price was so low. I could see that it was missing a drawer pull, but I could see that it wouldn't be too terribly difficult to match. Hell, it wasn't French Provincial after all. In terms of miles it wasn't very far away, but in Houston rush-hour traffic, it might as well have been in Northern Mexico. I figured the low price would make up for the two hours it would take to retrieve it, so I agreed to the very tight window of time I was assigned. 

Long story short.....I got there, went upstairs, and when I saw the dresser, the hours of work that it would take to bring back to life immediately flashed before my eyes, like a dying man's life. It wouldn't be worth it. I would need to strip the veneer on top, the bottom drawer was broken, there was a piece of window screen on the underside (Really? Who does that?).....Jesus....it was bad. Before I could say, "Thanks for letting me come by, but I'm going to pass," I thought about the long drive that just ended, and about the one that was in my immediate future. I wasn't leaving empty-handed. I was already invested in this piece. I bought it.

I really don't like spending a lot of time repairing a piece of furniture before painting it. And I really, really hate stripping veneer. I have a trick that makes it easier, but it's still an arduous and time-consuming task. For me, it also proved to be a dangerous task because I sliced my hand quite severely. Normally, when I see that much blood, I pass out, but I didn't this time. It was my left hand that sustained the damage, so my almost-completely-pathetic-and-non-existent sex life wasn't rendered to completely-pathetic. Silver linings.

Where did I go wrong? The price was great, but the time required to obtain and repair the dresser added way too many hours. The second I left home, I was in a position of weakness. I had no leverage. I was psychologically gelded. I was committing myself to something I wasn't sure I wanted. I felt like parties of an arranged marriage.

Though I'm incredibly happy with the end result, the finished product has left me with a pyrrhic feeling more than one of satisfaction.

Redemption came about the very day I cut my hand. I was corresponding with a woman who had a really cool bureau that I really wanted, and she had a few other pieces in which I had some interest. We agreed to meet at 3:30, which meant I had to leave home at 3:25 because the assisted living place was literally three minutes away (I later learned that she was cleaning out her mother's assisted living condo....broken hip). 

I cut my hand 40 minutes before I was scheduled to meet her, and the bleeding hadn't slowed much by the time I needed to leave. No Band-Aid was going to work (besides, I still haven't bought any), so I grabbed an Ace bandage from my tennis backpack, tightly wrapping my wrist and hand to create sufficient pressure to stop bleeding. I tried not to notice the red spot on the bandage as I drove.

I arrived early (two minutes to be exact), and she greeted me. This time, I felt completely different. I could take or leave this stuff. I was confident. I was psychologically disciplined. "Will you take this amount for this, that, and those?" Done. It probably didn't hurt that she and I teased each other (she noticed the blood, and she joked that I had a dead body in my car....a morbid reference to the seedy reputation Craigslist participants seem to have), developing a nice rapport along the way. 

I bought the pieces I wanted at well below ask (and I got two nice patio chairs that I needed anyway). I'll share those photos in another entry once they're complete.

I can take this, or I can leave this. When negotiating, I've always found that leverage is derived from the willingness to walk away. It's psychological leverage, but it's leverage nevertheless. Applying this can help one avoid all sorts of remorse and regret. Sadly, it does nothing to stop bleeding.

In the Blink of an Eye

Life is funny sometimes. In the blink of an eye, circumstances can completely change. One more word is spoken, an impulse becomes a choice, and suddenly, life is never the same again.

It has always fascinated me to think back in time one minute or one hour or one day, and so on. Where was my life at this time yesterday? 12 hours ago? If I had done this, would that have happened? If I had said this, would it have helped? I suppose that's just the process I go through when evaluating the choices I make and the words I use, good and bad alike.

One minute, I am planning on working out troubles with my girlfriend in Florida. Sixty seconds later, I'm packing the remainder of my belongings (I had been mostly packed throughout September.....Freudian?). Fast forward one hour, and I'm at the Alabama state line. Twelve hours more, and I'm sound asleep in Texas. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly life can change.

At the time, it seemed like the worst possible outcome, but as that moment and that day have passed deeper into history, I realize that it was the best possible outcome. The worst part for me is living with the fact that I deluded myself into believing she had more depth than a plastic swimming pool sold at Wal-Mart . That, and I miss her dog. That's life, though. You place your bets on situations you believe will make you happier, and then you live with the outcome. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose.

Estimates vary, but the average person will speak just over 123 million words in a 2.5 billion-second lifetime. It's a lot like sports I suppose. A couple plays that could go either way determine the outcome. Three words like, "I love you," change the course of life instantly, but represent a tiny percentage of the total words used in a day, Two words like, "I'm leaving," and life's trajectory shifts yet again. Five words that required all of two seconds to speak, yet had drastic impacts on nearly two years of my life. If that doesn't make you think, it certainly should.

Anyway, I'm happy to be back in Texas. I missed my family more than I knew. I missed cheap dry cleaning. I missed H.E.B. (if you aren't from Texas, H.E.B. is the greatest grocery store ever). I missed teeth. I missed seeing UT and A&M stuff because the "Roll Tide" crap really ground on my nerves. And, I missed having 8 billion items on Craigslist from which to choose, so let's get started, shall we?

I came back to Houston with one piece of furniture (a cedar chest, which hardly counts), so I'm using all of the pieces I'm posting, except for one. Nevertheless, it was fun finding and renewing them. The journey is the reward, right?

Is this really what is sold at Pottery Barn?
He had them listed as coffee tables, and
clearly, they are not.

Using them as nightstands for the time being. I need to get some lamps.

Found this gorgeous antique dresser for a song. It
was in a scary neighborhood, I didn't take my pistol,
and it was missing a handle......

....found an exact handle on eBay, painted it
white, stained it espresso, y voila!

This was the first piece I bought. I don't
understand how people can sell such
beauty for so little, but they do.

A dear friend gave me this idea, so I can only take credit for the execution.

Bought this cute desk from the nicest woman.....

.....painted it white, and used Mod Podge to adhere pages from a
19th Century Louisa May Alcott book onto drawer faces. 

There are a few other projects that I will save for the next post. I really would write more (and more frequently), but I get exasperated with the formatting issues I have with blogger.com. Until then, mind your words and value the seconds because you never know which ones will change your life.

When it comes to jigsaw puzzles, start with the edges.

Has it really been four months since my last post? How disgraceful. I'll not make excuses, but life has been complicated over the last 120 days. Much has changed, so, in my brain, the last post might as well have been written four years ago.

Imagine this scenario for a moment. It's cold outside, you're bored, and you're inexplicably struck with the urge to work on that 5,000-piece jigsaw puzzle someone gave you as a stocking-stuffer 10 years ago. You sit down at a table with a glass of wine, you sort the pieces on the table, and you sort, meticulously setting the edges aside. The outline is finished in short order, and you feel like you're getting on a roll. 15 minutes pass, and you realize you haven't found two pieces that fit together. One more glass of wine, 30 minutes, and you still haven't found a pair that fits. Nothing is working, and instead of ruining your wine buzz, you leave the table, puzzle unfinished. The thoughts and ideas written in the "notes" app of my phone are those puzzle pieces. Given time and focus, they eventually fit together. Instead, the random thoughts are nothing more than powerless victims of my impatience, incompetence, and complete inability to focus.

I've written enough words over the last month to make an encyclopedia blush, but with very little coherence and even less cohesiveness, I've been loath to post anything. Even something as simple as a brief description of furniture has made me feel more lowly and inept than the most God-awful screenwriters of Mexican novellas. Frankly, and no longer privately, I've been embarrassed. This block is just not something to which I am accustomed. Something changed today. Suddenly, words are actually flowing with the thoughts. It's not a cosmic shift, but it's an improvement. Besides, I need to post something just to get these photos off my phone.

I like to reconcile. I like to finish a book before starting a new one. I like to close a door before opening another. In that vein, here are the pieces I purchased and completed during my last few months in Florida........

I don't have a before picture, but this chest was a freebie. Slapped on
some white paint, Mod-Podged some pages from Atlas Shrugged, y....

.....Voila!!

Overpaid for this china hutch, but.....

....it turned out nicely. Painted the outside cream, the inside teal, and
replaced the crappy plexi-glass with chicken wire.

Picked up this antique piano bench on the cheap......

......painted it mint green, and glued some Beethoven sheet music on the inside.

A storm was brewing, and I was down to the last 2 pieces in Florida

Overpaid for this antique secretary....loved it, and it was an emotional purchase..

...Painted the outside doily white, and the inside a celery-green. It
was an utter pain, and I will never refinish another secretary.

Paid hardly anything for this pub table set. It was in a really
bad part of town (Fort Walton Beach), and I was thrilled to escape
with this set and my life.

Turned out nicely.....I really liked the fabric. It never sold..donated it
to the Gestapo.

Then, my time in Florida was over. At just before high noon on a Saturday in late-September, I finished packing an already-mostly-packed car, and I left the Emerald Coast. I will definitely write more about that experience soon (I have a ton of notes to sift through), but I'm just now getting my writing bug back. With any diligence, I should be able to finish putting together the pieces of this jigsaw puzzle, if for no other reason than to delete this encyclopedia of notes.

Time Flies (and Drags)

Have you ever looked back a month (or in my case, 1.5 months) and think that five years have passed? Or looked at yesterday morning and wonder, "If I hadn't done that, this wouldn't have happened?" That's precisely how I feel about life since the last post. Perhaps if I wrote with more frequency, I wouldn't feel this way, but alas, life got in the way.

We bought quite a few pieces over the last 40-ish days, and as usual, I forgot to take some "before" pictures. My desire to start and complete a project always overwhelms the patience required to use 10 seconds to snap a photograph. I'm not including everything we purchased because this piece of crap blogger.com is having serious formatting issues, but I am including all of our interesting pieces and bargain buys.

Though this depression-era hutch was a really good addition, I'm a bit disappointed in myself that I overpaid a bit. I tend to lose some of my buying discipline when antiques are involved. The lady selling seemed anxious to sell, we had a good rapport, but I just paid the asking price. I didn't ask if she would take less. I felt like I had no bargaining power because she knew I had driven quite a distance for the hutch. 

$20 is nothing, but change the dollar-sign to a percentage-sign, the perceived overpay increases. That's how I think. I left 20% on the table.

Paid $100 for this lovely antique hutch

Finished product turned out nicely

Paid a whopping $22 for this pair of mid-century chairs. There were a couple
stains, so we had to paint them. In the end, they turned out nicely.

Sometimes I wonder how certain people have made it this far in life. Frankly, my thinking travels well beyond that, but there's no need to be ugly. A good buy is a good buy, and I shouldn't question the sense, or lack thereof, behind the seller's motivation.

Don't know how, but we paid $25 for this depression-era
Waterfall dresser. We earned it....the woman's house stunk,
but at least the dresser still smelled "antiquey."

One of my favorite pieces thus far.....it came out exactly
how we envisioned.

Paid $25 for this (sorry, forgot the before picture), and.....

.....paid $25 for this curio cabinet (again, no before photo)

Paid $20 for this 1951 cedar chest

Stripped some veneer, and painted it a neutral cream. Had we painted it
pink, it would already be gone. I'm still never buying pink paint.

For the most part, it was a productive and entertaining start to the summer, though not without days of severe high anxiety and stress. We are very much looking forward to finding more interesting junk during a calmer and more care-free back half of summer. 

Upon Us All A Little Rain Must Fall

Other than a monsoon that flooded the Florida Panhandle, April was a rather uneventful month. Baseball season began, and I feel like I'm batting .167.

Alas, life is pretty damn good despite a hitting slump, and I was able to take advantage of some Craigslist bargains. To continue the baseball metaphor, I had hits aplenty from the buy side, strikeouts and pop-ups on the sell side (one nice triple on a dining table and five chairs notwithstanding).

Senses of accomplishment are fine and dandy, and I do enjoy the journey, but for my impatient nature, I need the tangible reward to be completely fulfilled. After all, I don't buy and fix to hoard. I buy. I fix. I sell. I have fun in between. That's it. 

A review of the last month, starting with the one thing that did sell, and of course, I forgot to take photos.....

Paid $50 for this 48 inch round table, and......

.....$50 for 5 dining chairs (this is post-makeover)

Nice little bone white dining set

                                             

Picked up this six-drawer dresser for $60

Slapped on grey (or is it gray?) paint, and sprayed the hardware with an antique gold paint.

        

                 

Paid way too much for this dated, but sturdy china cabinet

Crappy photo, but elegant bone white (why does it look grey?)

And then I ventured into uncharted waters. For me, the world was still flat. I'm not  a carpenter, but I saw some benches made from headboards on Pinterest, so I decided to give it a try. Twice actually. I was pleased with the end results, and I did not fall through when I sat on them.

Paid $20 for this really nice headboard and footboard... 

Nice bone white (I bought a lot of that color) bench with stained seat

Paid $24 for this obscenely heavy headboard

Turned into turquoise and...wait for it....bone white bench

Strong enough to hold an overweight chihuahua

Florida is flooded, I am mired in a drought, and it's raining again.