Saturday, December 26, 2020

Corona Christmas

 Add Christmas to the list of things we've survived during a pandemic. 60 degrees and drizzling outside? Netflix in sweatpants inside? It hardly makes for a convincing Christmas, even with the TV framed with stockings. Luckily for us, Nicolas's compatriots from work were about as trapped in California as were we. We're all in a shared risk pool (there's not much getting around lunch time in a small break room), so what's one more meal together? We cranked up the French holiday tradition, from the pre-meal apéro to the foie gras and fig jam all the way to the bûche de noël from a fantastic French pastry shop in Berkeley called La Noisette. (Thanks, Mom!)

Since the French have this quirky habit of celebrating Christmas on what's actually Christmas Eve, we were already in full Christmas food coma by the time real Christmas came around. We managed to roll ourselves out of bed and pump ourselves full of caffeine in time to get a classic 2020 family photo, and then walked it off with a rainy stroll around the lake.

Aloia family Christmas, Corona-style

Not exactly holly jolly, but the calendar said December 25, so I guess we just had Christmas.

The most memorable bit? Beginning to plan for a world post-pandemic. With vaccines already shipped across the country for front-line health care workers, we can imagine a day when we'll all be safe to travel. Air France is still offering fully refundable/exchangeable flights through September 2021 (shocking how airlines suddenly sorted out flexible reservations!), so we booked ourselves an August Eurotrip with all our fingers crossed. Come on, 2021!

Saturday, December 19, 2020

Pandemic Project

Seems lots of us are wrapping up our pandemic projects. In the past two weeks, the FDA approved not one but TWO coronavirus vaccines. And me? I made some tables. Somehow I got the bright idea last summer that what was missing from my life was a set of living edge end tables, and that this was clearly the moment to fill that gaping hole. I mean, I had these unused stools whose steel bases could definitely be repurposed for side tables. This project was basically begging me to dive in. That's how I wound up spending the past six months sanding to my heart's content (and then a whole lot more) and have finally declared mission accomplished (or have waved that white flag and called it close enough? Po-TAY-to, po-TAH-to). It only took nearly burning down the house on one occasion, hobbling around the office on a wounded foot for a week praying that my colleagues didn't notice, and coating the entire living room with a fine dusting of carcinogenic epoxy resin powder on several occasions - you know, your standard weekend sort of hobby. But at least they're already going to use, and in all fairness they really earn some bonus points for originality. Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, my pandemic project: 
My very own flaming red box elder wood slabs

It all began with a pair of flaming red box elder slabs from ebay, shown here right after I'd sanded the first of them. The "flaming red" refers to those little red streaks you can see just around the holes in the wood. Sometimes, significant portions of the box elder wood can be patterned with red. The origins of this color have mixed explanations online, but it seems to come from a stress response in the tree. As you can see, these stress responses can produce some striking patterns.
A gorgeous illustration of flaming red box elder, not my pandemic project (I wish)

Box elder is a type of maple known to be light-weight, soft, and brittle. Not ideal for furniture, but these hole-y paired slabs were just ideal when attempting to create your very own resin-filled living edge table rather than shelling out a few thousand to one of the craftspeople on etsy.
Look at those etsy pros and their fancy resin-filled tables. It can't be that hard, right?

Wood in hand, I started thinking about my resin filling and how much potential lie in the immense size of those gaps in my wood slabs. We weren't talking cute little cracks wriggling across the wood: this was a full canvas laid out for me, and I had to do it right. Several youtube tutorials later and I was convinced. People use resin to fill in wood gaps and they also use resin to set legos for decorative objects like paperweights, so surely it's only a small logical leap to combine the two.

Back to ebay I dove, this time on the hunt for the perfect lego set. Before I knew it, I had become the Lego Movie kragle villain.
Cue the evil villain music

For those of you not privileged enough to have enjoyed an Aloia cousins' campout or otherwise be in the know, our Lego Movie protaganists must fight against the evil forces seeking to freeze them with the "kragle," aka Krazy Glue. Sadly, my own recently purchased Legos never stood a chance.
Sen. Furnie Sanders of Purrmont served an advisory role for the living edge Lego compositions

With the wood sanded, its interiors painted, and the Legos in place, it was time to break out the resin. Turns out epoxy resin sucks. It comes in two parts and has to be carefully mixed in equal quantities, even though one of the two parts is much more viscous than the other and almost impossible to pour to any precise desired volume. If you're lucky enough to measure both parts out right, you then have to try to mix without bubbling it all up. And if you're still with me at this point, you've now got to pour out the solution in just the right thickness: too much and you'll never manage to chase out those pesky bubbles that just keep appearing, else they set in permanently. But mind you, that extra mixed resin that you haven't yet poured better be continually stirred otherwise it starts heating up and setting in your mixing tub before you've even had a chance to use your carefully mixed concoction. And oh, did you happen to spill some on yourself in the process? Good luck getting that off your hands for the next few days. Clothing spill? Time to bid that outfit adieu.
Fun with Legos and epoxy resin! I started by pouring out a dyed layer in the base of each lego scene. (I was especially pleased with the last-minute swirls I managed to add to the Under-the-Sea table.) Once that set, I was treated to a weekend and a half of pouring the resin layers, a half inch at a time, and watching it set. Babysitting resin, from the folks who brought you the great pastime of watching paint dry.

If you manage to pour out and fix all your resin, and chase out all the bubbles with a mini blow torch without burning down your home, it's now time to move on to the next bit of fun: sanding. Now what's that you say, the dust generated by epoxy resin is carcinogenic? Classic epoxy resin, the gift that keeps on giving.
Sanding away - looks like those masks are good for protecting against more than just coronavirus!

The final steps were admittedly less painful, though by then I'd solidly checked out of this adventure. After painting down the outer edges of the table, I used a fancy rubber spatula sort of tool to paint the epoxy resin finish over the edges and the bottoms of the tables, no sanding required. Of course the inevitable drips did require one more round of wet sanding on the table tops, but luckily the wet sanding (finer grit sand paper, used with soapy water) doesn't leave your home covered in a carcinogenic soot. At long last, this past weekend I finally sanded my last and screwed that last screw into the wooden table top, finally calling it a day (or a half year, in my case).
At long last, the woodworking was done!

Last Sunday I broke out the power drill for the very last step, screwing that last table top to its re-purposed base, calling a wrap on this overly drawn out woodworking extravaganza. There may be loads of imperfections, but I'm reasonably content with the final outcome. Most importantly, I'm proud to say that they are two new perfectly functional tables.
Tada!


And now, I could not be more pleased to have to find a new project to fill the rest of my pandemic.