The Distinct Odor of a Tiny Electrical Fire

I had hit my groove, forgetting about the tightness in my back and my gimpy knees. I had a big belt sander in my hand and I was demolishing the old stain on our hardwood floors — one board at a time.

Then I demolished the sander's cord, heard a pop, saw a little smoke and smelled the distinct odor of a tiny electrical fire.

The big belt sander is dead.

It also happened to be the only tool that we borrowed from a neighbor. I couldn't have killed the Home Depot rentals, which we bought insurance for just in case I pulled a me and destroyed one.

Nope, I ruined Michael's nice Makita sander. Leah tried to make me feel better but was overwhelmed with the thought that we just sanded away a few hundred dollars. I didn't feel much at all except a tightness in my back and some knee pain.

We found a tool repair shop to take a look at Michael's sander, but we still haven't summoned the courage to walk next door and say "Remember that nice tool you lent us, yeah, about that..."

Like every other project, refinishing these hardwoods has taken more time, more patience and more effort than we had anticipated. The heavy sanding took two and a half days, we expected to finish in one. We are now touching up nail holes and the occasional warped board.

Tomorrow we plan to stain, which should bring a whole new set of challenges. Though if I ruin the rag we use to apply the stain it won't be that costly.