Alex Stick recently wrote about the handymen of Humboldt. I truly admire people who can build a table, sweat a copper fitting, or rewire a house. I’m picking up skills myself, a little at a time. But some people who know this stuff--and others who think they know--are a little too cavalier with us neophytes. “You should fix that leaky bathroom faucet--it’s just a washer.” I dove in. “Just a washer” turned into three washers, several phone calls seeking advice, a new handle-pulling tool, a borrowed seat tool, and an excruciating struggle with a corroded seat that I finally succeeded in stripping out--being lucky not to have broken my arm. Two trips to the plumbing supply store and six hours later, I had returned the seat tool, borrowed a big wrench instead, and had replaced the whole faucet. No leak! And now I know something about washers.
         The next time I see a gnarly old piece of furniture with “great wood underneath,” and some smart-Alex casually says “just sand it down and refinish it,” I’m liable to commit some dreadful crime.
         Some dear friends moved away, and gave us a horrendous-looking but solid old upright piano that they had found at a garage sale. The soundboard wasn’t cracked and pulling away from the ribs, unlike the soundboard and other grave structural problems of the much better-looking old piano that I had impulsively bought at a garage sale last spring, before I started actually learning about pianos. Beauty is skin deep, and the ugly duckling from our friends was a much finer instrument. And it didn’t even need to be ugly! The wood beneath that bathroom brown was indeed gorgeous. “Just sand it down...”
         Usually, I like to work. But sanding the piano was a bona fide nightmare, even with the power sander that coated my nostrils, throat, lungs, and every surface in that end of the house with a thick layer of fine dust. I did use a mask, most of the time; if I ever do such a job again I’ll pick up a mask rated for chemical warfare from the army surplus store. A grueling weekend, start to finish, and it took two full days to recover. Hand-sanding all the little crevices was especially delightful. I’m glad some people enjoy refinishing old furniture, but the only work I’d rather do even less is to apply that poisonous-smelling hot tar to a roof.
         The piano is now stunningly beautiful, and I’ll be forever glad I sanded it down, cleaned it up, and rubbed three coats of Tung oil into it. I’m excited not only about learning to express myself on the piano, but also about learning everything I can about how this glorious instrument works. But I’ll be happy if I never refinish another piece of furniture in my life.