(224): Picking at a 100-Year-Old Scab
Today was a day of doings, not thinkings. It began with a workout, continued to cooking dog food and treats, along with a spot of mowing. So, I hardly thought at all! But I still had trouble emptying my mind to do the tasks I did. I don’t remember actually thinking about anything in particular, but I definitely had “monkey mind” going on.
So, the last task of the afternoon/evening was a favor to my husband. He was trying to recondition a trunk, but much to his chagrin, he had to mow the lawn. He makes sure to complain long and hard about having to mow; if we had near neighbors, they would all know that mowing is my husband’s least favorite chore.
So I decided to sit in on the trunk project, which is what the title of this post is about. I peeled long-ago glued down fabric from the wood of this 100+-year-old trunk for about an hour and a half. It was steady, sometimes irritating work. As I sat there on the porch, picking, brushing, and peeling, my monkey mind at its mindless play conceived the connection to my childhood, as it often does.
Peeling that fabric had the feeling of pulling off a scab from an old wound. Sometimes it came off in individual threads, small, thin strips, and sometimes great gouges of long blackish, powdery sheets. I collected them in a plastic bag so my husband could eventually gather some of the powder and mix it in with the linseed oil he plans to rub into the wood.
He wants the trunk to retain its rough character — and boy is it rough (see photo above)! The bad thing is that he will, no doubt, want to store the trunk inside once it is “renewed,” and we really, REALLY, have no room. It’s a lovely thought to recondition a 100+-year-old trunk, but there is nowhere to display it. It would have to be stacked on top of the other four trunks and boxes in the corner of the room. And that means some of my stored stuff will have to find a new home. I’d keep it in the trunk if it weren’t for the probability that it will end up holding some of the massive clothing overflow (that he refuses to get rid of).
But for now, I have the image of picking at the 100-year-old fabric scab that allowed me to pass a mindless late afternoon on my porch with a very old trunk. The only bad part about the whole thing were the gnats that bit me up and down both arms. It almost makes me look like I’ve got measles. Yecch! So, happy dreams, y’all!
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