Tree of Rage Furniture: Rage Dining

In less than an hour, our home will be filled with the third installment of a beautiful piece of furniture made from the rage tree.  To date, that makes a Rage Desk, Rage Bed, and finally this Rage Dining Table to call our very own.  Where I'll hug it and pet it and squeeze it and love it.

I look forward to sliding my grandparents Steel Case chairs up to the heads of the table.  Assessing the best placement of my succulents, place settings, chairs.  Kneeling at eye level, running my hand over the smoothe, sprawling top.  wow.  My mind wanders to the large brunches and dinners I can now finally offer; knowing the laughs that await, hugging lovely friends, and making memories that will embed themselves into each grain.  Hopefully he'll keep the secrets since who knows what'll happen to our brains in 50 years.

The evolution of this three year story is quite remarkable.  From the excitement of a ginormous tree in our yard, to the mess, to the removal, to the logs, to the tears, to the milling, to the craftsmanship by a man and his tools.  Not even gonna make a joke, because you're mind is already in the gutter.  Each piece that now sits in our home is distinct; they feel a little different, has it's own message, breathes independently of one another, yet are born from the same lone, spikerificus parent.  This table is the descentment of a remarkable crescendo.

But the transfer of one surface to another is extra personal for me, a confessional.  I have never regularly dined with any other table before.  I kid you not, it feels weird to leave it, which is weird to say about a table I played no part in acquiring.  But it feels right, this be the one who replaces it.  The previous eating apparatus was in my family since before I was born.  Literally.  My parents purchased it in 197x-something from a Marie Calendar's restaurant that was going out of business.  And all the years in Simi Valley that weren't spent eating cereal on the floor in front of the fuzzy TV watching Saturday morning cartoons, were spent reaching up for my bowl on that table. It kept my secret of drawing on my american cheese slices - and of course EATING THEM; it held me up when I would cry because of a bad grade.  It didn't complain when I branded it with green nail polish during a slumber party, or when I would kick its legs out of frustration for something my parents said no to.  It supported me in Palmdale when I would rest my head because I was so unhappy; it was also went with me when I moved away from that awful place and started life 2.0.

It's seen its share of joy and heartache.  Seems wrong to get rid of what I keep wanting to say is her, so at least for now, it'll stay with us.

{end cheese}

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Thank you to the chump who planted this ridiculous, but beautiful tree.
Thank you to the city goobers for allowing us to take it down.
Thank you time and frustration, which forced us to find the best people in Los Angeles to surrogate our wood.
Thank you x1000 Josh at Arbor Exchange, for giving us these enduring formations that will outlive us.


...although I may request they be cremated with yours truly, so none of you fools can have them...

besos.

Tree of Rage Furniture: Rage Bed

On February 8, we had our first piece of Rage Furniture delivered - Rage Desk. I don't think the pictures do it nearly enough justice, but that seems to be a theme among a "phone cameras are rad but still doesn't replace a great manual" world.

Today, the wonderful chap Josh and his lovely & mighty sister from Arbor Exchange delivered the Rage Bed.  The highly anticipated, extra incredible, years in the making, can't believe it's ours...  Rage Bed.  It's inspired by famed Japanese designer, George Nakashima.  And now we get to SLEEP on this magnificent example of fine, Los Angeles based craftsmanship.  It will be there during spring birds, gusty nights, rainy Sundays, laughs, cries, writings, readings, puppy hugs and lofting dreams.  This wooden form of amazeballs will stay with the Clarks', through life and quietus.

 

  

 

FIN.

Tree of Rage Furniture: Rage Desk

A journal I wrote August of last year eloquented the story of how we found our home.  While that part 1 story dove into the home itself, it also illustrated a particular tree we unknowingly inherited.

The tree of rage story will unfold another time.  This is the story of its bitter wood, after the foliar carnage.

Our plan from the get-go was to keep the two largest logs and turn them into furniture.  What exactly that meant at the time, we did not know.  We tossed ideas into the air: front doors and tables and desks and cabinets and bookshelves and a mantel, a guitar, a bed, and wall sculptures and anything else centerpiecing the mighty beast.

The logs sat for a much longer spell than anticipated.  Jokes of being the worse neighbors, became lovage for it's homing beacon abilities, both for locating our house and for the high schoolers to smoke pot on.  I didn't care and totally would have done the same back in the day, yo.

After months of research and endless phone calls to lameoids, we FINALLY found a portable miller man in the form of Brent (Urban Logs to Lumber.)  He took each behemoth and sliced him up good; dried the planks in his Clark appropriate solar kiln, checking on it often to ensure peak performance. Seriously people, I hope anyone searching for a Los Angeles miller finds this reference.  Stop searching!  Fantastic experience.

After seeing a dozen or so slabs of the most beeuteeful wood, we narrowed our initial focus to a Rage Desk and Rage Bed.  Local craftsman Josh at Arbor Exchange is who we entrusted to build beauty from anger.  He is the most patient, understanding, knowledgeable feller who guided us through the design, process and delivery.  Absolutely top notch piece of fucking handmade realness.

Now, a history in pictures.

The rage desk was delivered today.

BEHOLD ITS GLORIOUS FURY!!!!!!

A Foundational Discovery, Part 1: The Backstory

Travis and I purchased our first place 2 years ago.

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Going out each weekend with our realtor, we saw almost 40 houses before two great places jumped.  Benefit of a buyers market.  The first had charm with a beautiful yard in our desired neighborhood, but it was barely steps bigger than our apartment and over budget.  The second was spacious with a large kitchen, on a quiet street in our second choice neighborhood, but only had two bedrooms and the back yard was junk.

We originally chose the first house because of #1 A.OK. location, but when that couples realtor insulted us by saying "their offer doesn't stand a chance," we said well fuck you and your small... square feet*.  The second home accepted our offer right away, even with an under-asking price and all closing costs paid.  That's right bitches!  I can negotiate!!!   * That couple got theirs: that same realtor called 30 days later, wondering if we were still interested because they were dropping the price because no offers had come in.  HA!

house 1

house 2

We knew cosmetic elements were needed inside - paint, curtains, art, the Clarks' touch, etc.  The floors are in great shape, walls solid and everything is well constructed.  It's just the kitchen cabinets and bathroom counters wouldn't be the finishes we'd choose today.  But again, nothing was wrong and those changes will come later.  My focus was the yard.

During this time, my mother in law offered to help us plant, tidy and reinvigorate the outside living space that had been dutifully neglected.  She had many years of experience and at one point, studied to be a geologist!  I credit her with giving me two things I totally dig: foliage and Travis.  awww... gross.  I fell for both though, hard.  After her tips & tricks, I set out on my own.  You'd find me in the front / back every weekend, trying to keep up with the green Jones'.  Today, I can truthfully say, I've been working in that yard for more time than I care to think about.  And I'm done.

The last 12 months, I've fought a 100-foot rage tree which housed 20 pound seed pods, spawned two giant rage logs, got poked numerous times by one nasty, bitter old mediterranean palm, chopped 4 misguided & diseased queen palms, unearthed AND moved thousands of pounds of white sparkle rocks (with thousands more to go,) destroyed weed city in the back lawn, had the front lawn die, manually trimmed all 9 of our old timey awesome Camellias plants, busted up oodles of strange bricks, removed the spikiest succulent cactus' one could imagine, found random painted blue objects buried in the dirt, had all 5 rose bushes kink out because of something, plus about 100 other things.  And after all this, it still feels like I've done nothing.  Like I look at the yard and think WTF Brandi, it still looks like junk.  That stinks.

Then there's the detached garage.  It's had numerous bouts of termites, mold within the walls, the back wall is half missing, and we continually snip hundreds of vines growing up from our neighbors ground, each who have fould their way into the rafters.  mother fu...

But there are positives my friend!  I LEARNED so much.  I'm talking ginormous amounts of information.  About time management, the care of plants, growing habits, organic vitamins, herbs, bulbs, sun influencials, mulch, scale, layout and thinking I may go to school for landscape design one day.  That's a pretty rad, unexpected outcome!  Do I wish I could have gained this knowledge not having been through all the above - YES - but a couple years of pain is the springboard to a lifetime of knowledge!  Plus, when I can sit back and peek at the things thriving, I am way proud.

limes

zucchini and mega hot peppers

I have become so invested, almost obsessive, in this vision to better our home.  I think about it all the time; I want to talk ideas all the time.  I want to be the envy of the neighborhood instead of the gentle eye sore.  But it's not a fleeting hobby, it's about enhancing the time Travis, Leroy and I can spend together that pushes me.  Spending time outdoors, which Leroy loves, or indoors in a comfortable space - I don't want to feel beholden to the dirt by spending hours each weekend, working towards an unknown game plan.  I am slowly learning to let go of feeling I must do everything myself or be some sort of failure.

I don't want to resent it; I want to enjoy it.  So I had an idea...