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My
Cabinets are Bonkers
The
knobs and pulls for my kitchen cabinets do not match. In fact,
no two of them are alike.
I
have a parenthesis-shaped wooden pull to which is glued, in
inch-high glossy red letters, the word “K N O B.” My
sister Pat made this for me.
And
there’s an almost identical pull, except that Pat’s
husband, Jim, made this one – evidently after partaking of
more than one glass of glossy red wine. The letters are glued
on backward. “B O N K,” this one cheerily proclaims.
My
brother-in-law Jerry converted a Harley-Davidson belt buckle
to a cabinet pull. The buckle had belonged to his boy, Luke,
who was killed in a biking accident a long time ago. My sister
Rosie, Jerry’s wife, whispered to me in wonderment, “I
didn’t think Jerry would ever part with that belt buckle.”
It
all began with that leaded glass window I installed in my
kitchen some time ago. The new window admitted a soft golden
glow to my kitchen. Unfortunately, that soft golden glow
revealed the sorry state of the room: chipped countertops,
dark, gloomy woodwork, and gouges in the lower cabinets where
cats have sharpened their claws for a quarter of a century.
After
a while I couldn’t stand it any longer: It was time to redo
my kitchen. I began by removing the cabinet doors – 28 of
them. I had no idea I had that many cabinets and drawers!
Halfway through, realizing I had only 14 down and 14 to go, I
almost chickened out. But that old mantra reasserted itself:
“Endeavor to persevere …,” and pretty soon the doors
were spread out over every imaginable surface in my back yard.
I
brushed a thick coat of Bix Stripper on the first few doors,
trying not to get any on myself. That stuff will eat holes
right through you! In a short time, the finish began to bubble
and lift. I scraped off the gooey residue, wiped the surfaces
clean with mineral spirits, and went over them with coarse
steel wool.
The
darn doors were almost as dark as they’d been before I
applied the Bix. “Boy,” I thought, “that must be some
stain!” Resolutely, I went through the whole process again.
Then mahogany stain refused to budge.
By
now I was getting a little frustrated. My neighbors, who’d
been observing my tribulations over the back fence, suggested
applying a “wash” to lift the remaining stain. I used some
they had left over from some project, then bought more. I
tried to convince myself it was working, but it wasn’t doing
a thing.
Two
weeks later I was still laboring over my doors. I had
stripped, restripped, and re-restripped only 19 doors, and I
had to buy more Bix.
This
time I read all the directions on the can.
Step
1, okay. Step 2, yup. Step 3, I did that. Step 4, okay. Step
5, I did that, too. Step 6, not applicable. Step 7, “TO
REMOVE STAIN,” it instructed, “SCRUB WITH WATER ...”
STAIN?!?!
I wailed. WATER!?!? And it dawned on me: I had been following
the directions to remove paint – not stain. Evidently,
there’s a difference.
My
life improved after that. One coat of Bix, one hosing down
with water, a little scrub with steel wool, and the remaining
nine doors were as pristine as a baby’s bare bum. I stripped
and washed down the original 19 doors one more time and they,
too, were stain-free at last. Hallelujah!
Then
I applied white pickling and two coats of polyurethane, and my
cabinet doors were finished. And quite lovely, too, despite
the abuse they suffered at my hands.
I
rebuilt portions of old cabinets that were on their last leg,
and built an open cabinet or two. I extended the counters a
bit, and lay new countertops, using off-white tiles some
friends had given me when they discovered they had slightly
overestimated the quantity they’d need for their beautiful
mountain home in Tennessee. Then I reinstalled the doors.
I
was ecstatic. Everything was so bright and cheerful. But my
“new” kitchen, accented in reds and yellows, clearly
needed something else. New cabinet hardware, that’s what!
But what kind? And have you looked at the price of cabinet
hardware lately? To tide myself over until I could decide, I
threaded thick loops of red yarn through the screw-holes in
the doors. Cabinet software, you might call it. “Hmmmm,” I
thought, “not bad. And functional, too!”
Then,
for my kitchen warming, Pat gave me the red wooden “K N O
B,” Jim gave me the “B O N K.” The man I love even more
than I love Ted Peters’ smoked mullet, hand-carved a knob
and painted on it a red symbol depicting our undying love.
(Well, okay, he says it’s just an image he plucked out of
thin air, but I know it’s a symbol of our undying love.)
I
received a red glass knob, and a red miniature Ford pickup
truck knob. A red knob from a chunk of wood a sister’s pet
squirrel had chewed down to a manageable size. Two red
miniature tape measure knobs with photos of another sister and
her husband glued on. Red knobs featuring hearts, flowers,
bees, a Canadian coin, ladybugs, and Minnie Mouse. A red knob
wrestled out of a spoon bent this way, then that, then this
way again. And, of course, the Harley Davidson best buckle.
I
haven’t installed them yet. I still need quite a few more,
and I’m thinking about where each will go.
But
this much I know: the Harley Davidson belt buckle will grace
the cabinet where Jack Daniels and George Dickel hide out. And
my wine glasses will be stored behind the “B O N K.”
Donna
Christensen is a do-it-yourselfer, writer and artist who lives
in the Tampa Bay area. Her e-mail address is homewreck@ij.net
Copyright
2004 Donna Christensen |
