For reasons not worth going into now, I am currently renting an apartment in St. Paul. The house was built in 1894-5, and it has been blessed with a series of owners and tenants that have not painted the beautiful woodwork such houses often possess. The original maple flooring is still in place. Most of the original door and window hardware is also still in place, including solid brass doorknobs and copper-tone door plates and locks (most of which still work).
After and before
I’ve been slowly going cleaning up the tarnished hardware, and have found sublime beauty in what I’m finding. I’m also generating self-satisfaction in making the apartment look as well-kept as can be done reasonably.
The floor of the larger bedroom had beat-up wall-to-wall carpet, and I struck a blow for a healthier, carpetless environment by ripping it out, along with the pad and the carpet strip (staples and nails in this beautiful maple!). I’m now in the process of negotiating with the landlord to have the now-uncovered floor’s maple refinished.
Why am I going through all this trouble and work (and some personal expense I’ve voluntarily undergone)?
Not only do I like to live in a place that looks nice, but I feel there is a joyfully obligation on my part to restore some fine craftsmanship to a state where it can be appreciated. So much conscientious craft went into making a house like this that I feel I have a moral obligation to myself to do something to bring it back.
One should always be careful when undertaking obligations. Be sure that it is something on which you are getting a return. It might be as simple as the feeling of a job well done or renovating something that pleases you, or it could be as great as the indescribably sublime joy of conceiving and raising a child. Rational self-interest is your guide here.
Always be sure that any duty you undertake is undertaken because there is a return on it, for you or someone important to you.
