Brass Dreams
I am cleaning my antique brass bed. The last time I attempted this, over thirty years ago, was embarrassing. After a weekend of scrubbing brass, some stains remained on my hands as I entered the office. A concerned colleague inquired. I explained it was tarnish from my brass bed. He grinned, “You may be holding on too tight.” This time I am equipped with enough protection to clean-up a chemical spill. The task will consume several weekends to scrub every dent, nook and cranny before lacquering the brass to preserve the shine at least through my lifetime. My bed celebrates its 145th birthday this year – quite a few lifetimes.
I am putting Brasso on an old toothbrush to scrub a seam on a rail. What a history? Produced the last year of the Civil War, it witnessed the industrial revolution, two world wars, the Civil Rights movement, and the emergence of Google. It was twenty when the Weber’s acquired it, just after they emigrated from Germany. At least one my ancestors died in it, but who know how many were born or at least conceived on its springs?
After so much Brasso and elbow power, I wash off the loose tarnish with soap and water. What about the dreams that came from this bed in the darkness of the night or when a just a sliver of dawn pierced the horizon? Did my Great- grandfather dream about the Schwabian hills of his birthplace near Stuttgart? How many sleepless nights did my Grandfather craft and implement a plan to keep his job and his house during the Great Depression.
Dad and my oldest son, Brian, slept the most nights beneath its tarnished poles – about eighteen years each. After my Dad enlisted in the Navy, just after Pearl Harbor, was it excitement, fear, valor or some combination that rattled his dreams? On his last night on its springs, the eve of his wedding, was he imagining a family and future or just the wedding night? And Brian, my computer whiz, may have fought Nintendo demons, or lied awake worrying his parents might discover the forbidden internet dial-up cable hidden under the couch.
The foot of the bed is now a shiny contrast to its dark head. When complete it will be a sparkling guest bed. Who knows? Perhaps it will become a dream machine for a grandson or granddaughter. Maybe someone will EBay it to another family. Whoever is lucky enough to climb beneath its sheets will inherit the magic from generations of positive, humorous and successful dreamers. Sleep well!
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