Tiny But Meaningful Discoveries In Wood
The sawed-off shuffleboard table served as a desk for perhaps more than three decades.
In its early days, countless English papers, math problems, science projects and books passed over its smooth, expertly finished service. Sometime during the 1990s, it became home to the household's first computer.
Where the wood came from and when it appeared in my boyhood home remain a mystery. My dad, who turned the shuffleboard into a desk, passed away a year ago this Sunday, and my mom can't remember when he refinished the thing and added legs.
After I left for college in fall 1981, Dad turned my old bedroom into an office, where he worked at the desk as a self-employed mechanical engineer right into his 70s. At some point, the legs, always a bit wobbly, came off, and the shuffleboard was placed atop two filing cabinets to make a sturdier desk.
After he retired, Dad spent hours on the computer on that desk, playing games, sending e-mails and checking his stocks.
As widows often do after their spouse's passing, Mom the past year made it a mission to do some redecorating, starting with my old bedroom. My parents moved into that Houston house on their wedding night in June 1962, and I was born nine months and two days later.
Mom wanted the shuffleboard out of the house, and I jumped at taking it. The thing weighs about 100 pounds, and it almost fell off my car three times on the way from Houston to Pinewood.
The mission is to turn it into a table to put behind a couch , starting with a labor-intensive refinishing job, which began late last year.
Over the years, the shuffleboard collected all manner of nicks, gouges and stains, so it took getting to bare wood before staining and polishing could start.
A sander didn't work, so in came the stain remover and muscle-burning scraping. Then it came time for fine sanding. During that stage, something dark emerged on the shuffleboard's surface. A closer look revealed a hand print. I placed my hand over it, and it was a perfect fit.
Only it wasn't my hand print; it was my father's.
At some point while laboring on the table, he stuck his sweaty palm on there and left a near-permanent mark. The discovery sent a chill, and the sanding of the top stopped.
Then came the edges, sanding and sanding, working around the table. Then something else, something that looked like letters, drew attention. Getting inches away, another chilling discovery was made: "CURT T. PEARSON."
Using a wood stamp, Dad had left his mark. The sanding stopped again.
Little discoveries and surprise glimpses into the past like this keep coming with every box of possessions brought from Houston. From tiny tools and drawings to bigger stuff such as the shuffleboard, they provide fascinating pieces to the 89-year puzzle that was Dad's life.
Sunday, the anniversary of his death, will be an emotional day. I'll mark it by grilling steaks, drinking a couple of beers and maybe watching some football and that new cowboy series on prime-time TV.
Perhaps I'll work on the shuffleboard. I want to take my time.
And when it's finished, a name in tiny type will be added next to my father's, but I'll do it when my two sons aren't looking.
Curt T. Pearson
1919-2007
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-kTeTIDIC1k
In its early days, countless English papers, math problems, science projects and books passed over its smooth, expertly finished service. Sometime during the 1990s, it became home to the household's first computer.
Where the wood came from and when it appeared in my boyhood home remain a mystery. My dad, who turned the shuffleboard into a desk, passed away a year ago this Sunday, and my mom can't remember when he refinished the thing and added legs.
After I left for college in fall 1981, Dad turned my old bedroom into an office, where he worked at the desk as a self-employed mechanical engineer right into his 70s. At some point, the legs, always a bit wobbly, came off, and the shuffleboard was placed atop two filing cabinets to make a sturdier desk.
After he retired, Dad spent hours on the computer on that desk, playing games, sending e-mails and checking his stocks.
As widows often do after their spouse's passing, Mom the past year made it a mission to do some redecorating, starting with my old bedroom. My parents moved into that Houston house on their wedding night in June 1962, and I was born nine months and two days later.
Mom wanted the shuffleboard out of the house, and I jumped at taking it. The thing weighs about 100 pounds, and it almost fell off my car three times on the way from Houston to Pinewood.
The mission is to turn it into a table to put behind a couch , starting with a labor-intensive refinishing job, which began late last year.
Over the years, the shuffleboard collected all manner of nicks, gouges and stains, so it took getting to bare wood before staining and polishing could start.
A sander didn't work, so in came the stain remover and muscle-burning scraping. Then it came time for fine sanding. During that stage, something dark emerged on the shuffleboard's surface. A closer look revealed a hand print. I placed my hand over it, and it was a perfect fit.
Only it wasn't my hand print; it was my father's.
At some point while laboring on the table, he stuck his sweaty palm on there and left a near-permanent mark. The discovery sent a chill, and the sanding of the top stopped.
Then came the edges, sanding and sanding, working around the table. Then something else, something that looked like letters, drew attention. Getting inches away, another chilling discovery was made: "CURT T. PEARSON."
Using a wood stamp, Dad had left his mark. The sanding stopped again.
Little discoveries and surprise glimpses into the past like this keep coming with every box of possessions brought from Houston. From tiny tools and drawings to bigger stuff such as the shuffleboard, they provide fascinating pieces to the 89-year puzzle that was Dad's life.
Sunday, the anniversary of his death, will be an emotional day. I'll mark it by grilling steaks, drinking a couple of beers and maybe watching some football and that new cowboy series on prime-time TV.
Perhaps I'll work on the shuffleboard. I want to take my time.
And when it's finished, a name in tiny type will be added next to my father's, but I'll do it when my two sons aren't looking.
Curt T. Pearson
1919-2007
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-kTeTIDIC1k
posted by Brian Pearson at 10:57 AM
2 Comments:
Very interesting blog. We wondered if you would like to list it on our blog directory bigblogcollection.blogspot.com
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That sent chills up my spine just reading it.
An awesome man's man was your dad. I'd almost bet he left those marks there purposely for you to uncover one day. I miss him dearly.
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