By Susan Shanklin

There is a saying, “Out with the old, in with the new.” 

Kind of harsh for us grayheads. 

People sometimes don’t see the value of old things. Some people have to have the new and fastest on the market. Now, I’m not knocking technology, seeing I’m typing on an Apple computer and own an iPhone, but sometimes we overlook or don’t see the beauty in age.

Take, for example, our 1910 craftsman bungalow. She had grace and beauty when she was built. Lapboard siding, three-season porches, all clear pine with shellac-finished floors and woodwork, an outhouse, and wavy window glass. She is called a bungalow which really means cottage. 

In our “cottage” lived a few families … not too many, I think. Pencil markings in the old shed connected to the outhouse have the names of apple trees that once dotted the back hillside.

Families applied layer after layer of shellac on trim, floors, built-ins, and columns to form the classic orange hue. Families planted trees and flowers and the next family would cut them down.

She had stood firm on her foundation for 112 years when along came this family of two. By then, she had lost her shellac-rich orange hue, dogs had chewed moldings and doors, Vinyl siding covered her sides, and there were funky painted wall colors. The kitchen floor was built over two times, and the first floor and stairs were carpeted. Need I go on?

What do you do with the old? Total remodel? Or caress the weary bones?

We paint and repair wherever we can, but the stairs have cried out for help from day one.

Many, many feet of all sizes trudged up and down those stairs along with four-legged critters and tons of dressers and beds. Those stairs were made by a skilled craftsman with a square and level. Rich knotless pine boards were fashioned to precise measurements to carry all those feet and furniture up and down.

Family after family cared for those stairs for me. Some families, not so much. 

Before we moved in, the not-so-fresh-smelling carpet had to be removed from the lower level and stairs. Whoever laid the carpet on the stairs was a madman with his mighty staple gun with heavy-duty staples, which left many holes and removed chunks of wood. I think I heard the stairs cry one day! Scars left from the past. Wounds that were deliberate. Weeping for its lost beauty by someone who didn’t care.

Anyway, those stairs stared at me for months. I had little problems with them that set me back and derailed me.

I tried different chemicals to remove a residue on the battered stairs to no avail. It was suggested to me to use Everclear, or as Tom calls it, with a chuckle, “White Lightning.”

That’s right! 190-proof grain alcohol, my friend.

So, with my white lightning in hand, I would first sand the treads and risers, then clean with White Lightning, then stain, shellac, sand again, and shellac some more.

Oh, happy dance, little stairs! With tears of joy, she cried. Me, not so much. Ha. I couldn’t really kneel because of a sore knee, so I bent over or did little squats throughout the process, which took many days. 

Tom would say, “Oh, that’s too hard on you. I’ll do it.”

What? With all your ministry duties and house duties, pleeease! Plus, he’s not good at that stuff. Give him a hammer!

So, I would do sections at a time—treads, raisers, and landings. Work and persistence. In between the work on the stairs, I would hide my liquor bottle in fear that someone would think I was taking a snort or two.

Sometimes I would hide it in the washing machine. Sometimes in the basement. The funny part of it is that Tom had to buy me a second bottle over in Wisconsin because they don’t sell it here in Minnesota. 

Tom said, “That’s the first time I’ve been in a liquor store in 46 years.”

Well, my friends, I can now say, “It is finished!”. 

The old became almost new. So let’s change that saying to, “Out with the decay and in with the renew.”

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