Woody Buzz Lighthead

There goes the stain.

Board. Board. Board.


We are getting our hardwood floors refinished.

We knew it would be messy. Wait.

We THOUGHT we KNEW it would be messy. But this, is a big, big messy.

We built this house. Well. People with tools built it. But our home was completed in 1996. For the most part, those wood floors looked pretty good after 22 years. And, I will tell you this. The longer this floor-finishing project goes on, the better those old floors seem now.

For those of you unfamiliar with the process, I will Cliff-Note-It. First, you must move all items which normally reside on those floors, OFF of those floors. Thankfully, we have help, in the way of a Doer-Of-All-Things Mike. Seriously, our good pal Mike seems like he can muster just about anything, and he always, joyfully, gets the job done.

So. We moved the “everything” out of our house. Except for us. We moved down to the confines of the basement.

Next. The men come with their whirring machines. The team of floor refinishers marched right through our door. Their machines looked a little Dr. Seuss-ish, what with the big vacuum bags, those twisting pipes, and the metal whirligigs. Thing One. Thing Two.

Now the next part was tricky. When they bring the machines into the house, a certain impending doom falls over you. It is like the guy on Charlie Brown, with the rain cloud over his head. OR did that little dude have a bunch of dirt around him, and it was the slumpy guy on the Flintstones that has the downpours? No matter. I was him, either way. Maybe both together. Maybe I felt impending mud.

So yes. This muddy feeling followed me around, as they were carrying in, and setting up, with cords going this way, and that. But all the while, I was chatting with them. And they seemed like nice fellows. They seemed like they would do no harm. We talked about little dogs, and baby deer, for crying out loud. My impending doom turned into laughs and jovial cavorting.

And then it happened. They wished to unplug the dryer. What? The dryer?  They mumbled something about 220. Of course, I put on my Mr. Mom Movie hat and said, “220, 221. Whatever it takes.” They walked over to the wall, stuck the plug into the socket, and suddenly, the house became the Great Dustbowl of 1930. It became the surface of Mars. We were the Desert Sandstorm. Our lives had changed forever. This was deep impact.

Fast forward.  Two days later, and the dust is still thick in the air. Peanut Butter Thick.  Like a scene from one of those Horror Movies, where The Mist, or The Fog, is the evil player.  The bad guy.  You know, I have not seen Lou. He was swept away by the Evil Wood Dust, for all I know. Ollie looks like a hapless version of the Abominable Snowman, but orange. And me? I am but a former shell of my old self. With dust on top.

Yesterday, the polyurethane started. Coat number one. I can’t feel the inside of my nose, and frankly, I have forgotten who I am. If the smell of this came “on the rocks” I would be “off the wagon.” I think my feet are still down there. I like Hello Kitty.  Pass the mustard, please.  Does anyone know where I parked the bus?  Do you know the way to San Jose?

Ok.  I think I’ve snapped out of it for now.

But we have more polyurethane to go. Coats and coats.

I keep saying there will be an end in sight soon.

Kind of like being stuck in the movie theater, watching Battlefield Earth, starring John Travolta. You simply can’t believe this is actually happening to you. 


“There’s this guy, named Roy. T. Bennett. He must have had his floors refinished.”
― Polly C. Kronenberger, The Impending Dust Doom


“Instead of worrying about what you cannot control, shift your energy to what you can create.”
― Roy T. Bennett, The Light in the Heart


“Do what is right, not what is easy nor what is popular.”
― Roy T. Bennett, The Light in the Heart


“Be grateful for what you already have while you pursue your goals.
If you aren’t grateful for what you already have, what makes you think you would be happy with more.”
― Roy T. Bennett, The Light in the Heart