Making progress

Dad was here Sunday-Thursday to help me. We cut all kinds of old glass from frames I am either recycling or obtained at thrift shop. Old glass is notoriously hard to cut. Dad said he had never done such a nerve-wracking job. I had intended to take some pictures of him working on the glass, but didn’t do it. I was too wrapped up in what we were doing to remember to take pictures. This whole process has been nerve-wracking. I had thought the cedar picture would be a fairly simple process. It fit so well in the old pie safe door that is it’s frame that I had no need to mat it. Just cut the glass, cut the backer board, put spacers on glass to keep separate it from picture, place picture between them and clamp them to back of frame. I should have known better. I was using glass from a frame I had bought at a garage sale sometime ago. I have never had such difficulty cleaning glass in my life. I estimate I spent two hours cleaning it. By the time I put the “picture sandwich” onto the frame, I had had enough. I went upstairs and figured we would be able to quickly finish framing it in the morning. I should have known better. When I awakened the next morning, I realized I had forgotten to sign the photo. Sigh. I undid the sandwich, signed it and put it back together. Dad and I clamped it down. When I turned it over, he said, “The glass has cracked.” I shrieked. We searched for the source that caused the crack and found that the door was warped. We didn't know what to do. Door matched the picture so perfectly. No other alternative was acceptable. After some discussion, Dad said, “Do you have any silicone caulk?“ No. But that gave me an idea. I got my glue gun and filled the spaces with hot silicone glue. Problem solved. We put the sandwich back together. Whew. I should have known better. Dad said, “The picture has a fold in it.” I wanted to cry. After all that trouble, the picture dares to have a crinkle? I Googled the problem, but got no definitive answer. In a similar situation to mine, the person was jokingly advised to iron the photo. What have I got to lose? With my heart in my throat, I turned the iron to the lowest setting, covered the ironing board with a press cloth and the picture with another press cloth. Both these press cloths were more of a screen than a cloth. I put water on my fingertip and dabbed it onto the offending crack, then gently, ever so gently, pressed it. When I turned it over with shaking hands, I found the fold much diminished, but the screen had left a slight imprint. I tried to remove it with the same process, less the bottom press cloth, and got some of it to smooth out. But not all. Dad said, “Let’s just put this back together and hope no one notices the slight imperfection!“ So we did. I put it in bags to protect it and put it on the table with the rest of the finished pictures.

I wondered why God had sent me through this awful process. Then I realized what a valuable experience it had been. I had learned how to correct warping and folded pictures. But I’d rather not go through such an ordeal again.