Frankenhands

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Yesterday I managed to get up off the couch and force myself into a vertical position. Looks like I’m not going to get those bedsores after all. I decided to finally attack the old paint and rust on the wrought iron railing on my stoop, since it looks especially busted next to the new brick steps. I bought the wire brush attachments for my drill about a year ago and just never got around to do anything with them until yesterday.

Anything I do out front draws an audience. Even after almost 1.5 years of living here, my neighbors are still immensely curious about the things that I do outside. Then again, I am the first new neighbor they’ve had in twenty-eight years, so I kind of expect an audience at this point. I started my paint and rust stripping project around 10:30, which is too early for the crowd of old guys that usually hang out on my street on Sundays. I did, however, get a stream of commentary from neighbors walking by as they headed to the AME church across the street.


Cripple Mike: Go ‘head now! Yall be out here workin’ hard on a Sunday! Mmm-MMM!

Mr. “Fast” Walker: Now that’s what I like to see – a woman who can take carrre of things and a neighbor that be respectin’ her house!

Diane: Good Lawwwd whatchoo gettin’ into, baby? Shouldn’t yall be wearing a mask when yall do that?

Goth Bob: (not on his way to church) How yous doin’ ta-day, hon? Yous gonna keep that railwin’ black? ‘Cause black’s a good colwor.

Ms. Sarah: Oh, that’s gon’ look real nice when you done. Real nice.

Ms. Mary: Good morning, baby. How you feel? Don’t be working’ too hard today, you hear?

Ms. Karen: Ooooh girrrl you got your work cut out for you! Have a blessed day.
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The stream of commentators dwindled as church services started, so it was just the railing and me. I worked on the flat surfaces first and saved the curvy, twisted balusters for last because I knew they’d be a pain in the ass to deal with. When the top layer of old black paint came off the first baluster, I was surprised to find a layer of bright red paint underneath. This got me thinking about Crack Lady and I wondered if she had painted the balusters red or if maybe one of her children or grandchildren did. I could imagine her telling delivery people, “My house be tha only one wiff a red an’ black railin’.” And there I was taking the red off with an angry wire brush, all the while thinking about how, once upon a time, someone took the time to brighten up this generic railing. In a strange way I felt a bit bad grinding the stubborn red away…like I was violently canceling out someone else’s effort. It’s not good to let your thoughts drift when operating power tools.

After nearly two hours of letting my mind wander while running my favorite DeWALT drill, my hands were fairly mangled from banging them on the balusters whenever the drill would slip, which was often. Yeah, I probably should have worn work gloves. I also should have listened to Diane and worn goggles and a mask since I still have black dust coming out of my nose and eyes. When I got up this morning, I could barely move my hands. They feel on fire. They feel red.