For
the better part of three decades I spent most of my time working and
running. In my free time I’d watch
television, read, write and occasionally sleep.
I was truly a creature of habit.
Every day was the same: Lather, rinse, repeat.
That
changed a little over seven years ago with the addition of my grandson
Krischan. My free time suddenly included
watching Scooby Doo cartons, hunting zombies in the woods and playing
basketball in the driveway; sleeping suddenly became a thing of the past.
Then
a couple of years ago Cindy and I moved to the country. The transformation had begun.
Suddenly
and without warning I was rediscovering the wonder and amazement of the things
I grew up with; the kinds of things you’re likely to run across living in the
country. Coal-burning stoves. Vinyl records. Furniture made of real wood. Outhouses.
Milk delivered to your front porch in glass bottles. Cars made of chrome and real steel. Children playing after school outdoors.
Suddenly
these things became more and more fascinating to me once again. I remember long ago hearing the advice to ‘keep
it because one day it may come back in style.’
What I should have heard is this: ‘Keep it because one day you’ll be
able to get a butt load of money for it.’
Some
of you may have held onto things from your childhood; consider yourselves
fortunate. (I’m speaking to the baby
boomers and not those of you who grew up with Ninja Turtles, hair metal and
video games. You simply wouldn’t
understand. In fact it’s probably best
if you stop reading altogether. Goodbye.) I am not one of those fortunate ones, but I
did hold onto a few things. A Nehru
jacket, a pair of platform shoes and a 1977 Ford Pinto, for example.
But
now I’m finding things at antique stores, craft shows and estate sales that are
reminding me of my younger days. (Antique stores? Yes, I realize I just had my Man Card
suspended. I’ll earn it back shortly.) I’m enjoying finding them and turning
them into new and useful things, whether it’s with a paint brush, a little TLC
or by using tools and sh*t—like an electrical saw, hammer and that thingee used
to ratchet five-headed screws into wood.
(Man Card reactivated.) I might add that prior to the past couple of
months I went into my toolbox about as often as I used the household fire
extinguisher.
I’ve
finished a couple of projects lately that would probably sell at one of the
local spring or fall festivals in our area.
The ones with funnel cakes, face painting and artwork composed on tin or
wood that often appears to have been drawn a 12-year old.
My
latest project involves a window frame, a pallet and a puzzle. I got the window frame from an old abandoned
house on Dead Oak Road. It’s apparent
the house has been deserted for a long time, and it seems to deteriorate more
and more every day. The first time I
took Krischan to explore it with me he said ‘Do zombies live here?’ It’s ironic that the house is on the road
that many scenes from The Walking Dead
were filmed. One day Krischan and I
found an old window frame completely intact that had fallen out of the wall from
one side of the house. The pallet I
found at an old construction area and the puzzle I found on Amazon. Here’s what I did:
Step
One: I sanded the window frame and painted it with antique blue chalk
paint. I used my old Nehru jacket to
clean up the spills. Three coats (of
paint, not Nehru) did the trick.
Simpler
alternative considered: Buying an antique blue picture frame from Hobby Lobby.
Reason
rejected: It was cooler to have a picture frame from Zombie Lobby.
Step
Two: I broke the boards on the bottom of the pallet by crushing them with a
sledgehammer, pulling off the broken boards and then ‘pushing’ the boards on
the other side by pounding them from beneath with my old platform shoes until
the nails on the other side could be removed with a claw hammer. I had the pallet on its side leaning against
my old Ford Pinto while I was doing this. I then sanded the boards and cut them into the
length of the window frame. Finally I
screwed the pallet boards into the back of the window frame. The window frame was transformed into a
rustic picture frame.
Simpler
alternative considered: As I saw on a YouTube tutorial, cutting the nails with
a nail saw and then simply lifting the boards from the pallet.
Reason
rejected: I didn’t have a nail saw and if I did I would have no idea how to use
it.
I
realize there is still another step left, but I wanted to stop to mention how
fortunate I am to have held onto my old Nehru jacket, platform shoes and 1977
Ford Pinto. While they didn’t generate a
butt load of cash, they did their part in making this project possible. Fifty years of keeping old crap does have its
privileges.
Step
Three: Cindy and I are now in the
process of completing the 200-piece jigsaw puzzle with the rustic picture
needed to complement the picture frame.
After a long weekend working on it we’re still about 100 pieces from
completion. Once it’s complete it will be glued together and then cemented on
the pallet boards squarely in the center of the window frame.
Simple alternative
considered: I believe you know the adage about giving typewriters to an
infinite number of monkeys and one of them will write ‘War and Peace.’ I tried something similar with the jigsaw
puzzle.
I emptied the
contents of the puzzle box onto the floor to see if all 200 pieces would fall
into place exactly as they were intended.
I don’t know what the odds of this happening might be, but I CAN tell
you they are less than 1 in 147.
Actually it
might be even more than that.
I’m pretty sure a couple of pieces bounced
under the couch.
Reason
rejected: The aforementioned 147 failures.
When
the puzzle is complete—this weekend, this month, this year, when I’m able to
tell you the exact odds of the 200 pieces falling perfectly into place when
dumped out of the box—I’ll be sure to post a photo of the finished product.
One
thing I’ve learned recently is this: Old dogs can be taught new tricks. I go
into my toolbox more often than into the restroom for a bowel movement, I’ve
become pretty proficient at guessing the cost of an antique and most nights I’m
in bed by the crack of dark.