If I had a time machine, Guy would have swiped it yesterday, gone back about a hundred years, and smacked whoever put three coats of ugly brown varnish on that beautiful wood floor he just spent two days sanding. It took over two dozen sheets of 20 grit, one by two foot pieces of sandpaper, and about 60 discs of sandpaper, but he finally got the last of it up last night. The friction caused so much heat that the varnish melted, not sanded, and it gummed everything up. It needs a bit of polishing now, but that’s easy compared to the pain he was in yesterday.
I doubt very much that he is going to want to tackle the hallway and small bedroom, but he might, seeing as he thinks it’s actually white cedar up there, not pine.
We didn’t find anything while sanding, but there’s one board that has been replaced at some point, with a tiny finger hole in it that is just screaming “pry me up! See what’s under me!” I don’t know how long I can resist. Some of the nails have square heads, and I’d hate to ruin them.