Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-26444017-20180727065223

I've been into woodworking since high school. I took a class and loved everything about it. The hands on nature of the craft, coupled with certain mathematical and spatial capability requirements combined to create a fun and satisfying environment. Once I graduated, I wanted to keep going with it, so I made my way to the local hardware store to gather up the necessary tools.

Mostly, I make little knick-knacks; a checkerboard with pieces bound by a nice border, a hollow cube containing another cube, things like that. They mostly sit on my desk or shelves, and every once in a while someone will insist on buying something. I don't really do it to make money, but I'll make an exception on occasion. All the stuff I make is small, so it's pretty easy to replace.

There is one thing, though, that I don't think I could ever let go of. The largest thing I have made to date is a moderately sized chest. I wanted to give it the old fashioned pirate theme, and thus decided to construct a banded chest with an arching lid. The scrap wood used to build it was weathered to begin with, since it had been out in the elements for a couple months, and it was the appropriate shade. Some iron strips, a nice heavy padlock, and a handful of screws were really all that was needed.

I value this chest mainly because it was the only thing I ever built that my wife directly approved of. In fact, she insisted I do something with the wood alongside the house, and was perfectly ammenable to the idea of using it in a project like that. She still despised the noise, but was ultimately satisfied with what came out of it.

I can't decide what to do with it, though. Things haven't been the same since it was finished. I can't bring myself to open it, and I don't really want to sell it in it's current condition. I'm convinced that there's something wrong with it, and I have a pretty good idea of what it is.

I recognize the noises coming from inside. Muffled crying and banging emanate from the chest, the sounds dampened by the wood. It happens all the time, but I don't want to worry my wife. I built it, and it's my job to take care of it. I fear that she already suspects something, though. She gets up in the middle of the night, sometimes, and wanders out of our bedroom looking for the sound. She always checks the same place first. It's heartbreaking, and I don't know what to do.

I knew we should have just gotten rid of that old crib. 