I no longer cry at my varnish disasters. I laugh hysterically. Maniacally.
This morning I sanded out the grit from yesterday's disaster and put on a coat of fresh 3-part with a disposable brush -- to acceptable results.
On the way upstairs, I stopped to prune the geranium on the porch. An hour later when I went to gaze like Narcissus into my glassy varnish, a lovely red geranium leaf was encased there, a gentle reminder that the porch is just above my work table. BWAAHAHAHAHA
This afternoon, I sanded out that crimson leaf and prepped for the next-to-last coat of three-part varnish.
If you've been reading this blog for even a mere week, you know I've been to the deepest pit of varnish hell, I've climbed repeatedly back up to the mountaintop. And now that my varnish days are nearing a close I can look back at the abiding lesson I've learned, the lesson that can save legions who follow me from the same fate.
That lesson is this: don't ever use varnish.
But, oh foolish one, if you do, use a foam brush. On this afternoon's coat, the next-to-the-last coat of this yearlong run, I used a foam brush.
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."
(That angel better keep an eye on her damned feathers.)
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