Sanding our floors took a significant portion of three weekends. At times, I thought we would never get the floors done.
Perhaps this was to be expected: in seventh grade, I won the "golden nail" award for the best tech ed student. No one was more surprised by this than I was. (And believe me, every seventh grade boy was pretty surprised and pissed off. Seventh graders are not exactly known for their enlightened views of gender roles.) My main project for the semester had been a napkin holder. I had adapted the design from a book, and ended up with a napkin holder that was 9" high to hold 6" napkins. Hmm. It took me a few days to cut it out, and every remaining spare moment of the semester to file, plane, and sand sand sand it. Long after other students had declared their projects completed and moved on to learning to make pens on the lathe, I was still sanding. I figured the shop teacher must have respected my determination and perfectionism. And ever since then I've enjoyed sanding. When P takes on major woodworking projects, it's the one step I'll help with.
So, sanding was the one part of the floor refinishing I was eager to take on. (By contrast, I dreaded the applying of polyurethane, and spent weeks begging P to please just hire someone to do the floors, or at least that one step.) The problem is, my history shows that I'm good at undertaking sanding projects, and bad at knowing when they're good enough, and moving on to the next step.
We couldn't decide amongst ourselves which floor sander to use, the drum sander or the random orbit. So we did the scientific thing, and rented both, and experimented with their various strengths and weaknesses.
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