0230 and I can’t sleep

I can feel my mood worsening and I’m getting into one of those states where the pressure is increasing from all sides.  I finally got fed up with it, and made the decision to get dressed and come into the shop and try to do something, anything.

‘Jennifer’s’ cat was outside waiting for me, lounging on the stoop of the neighbor’s apartment.  I unlocked the front door of the shop, relocked it behind me, and made my way to the receiving area.  I pulled open the side door to get some airflow, and started in on the task in my mind: making a small box planter out of reclaimed wood.

About 3 years ago I’d deconstructed a bunch of pallets with the intention of using the reclaimed wood for various projects.  The first thing I did was make a small wooden crate that wound up collecting scrap pieces of other boards.

By the time I was finished, this box was packed full of dressed wood in various lengths.

Life happened, and the crate was moved to the new shop where it languished in a corner until tonight.  I came in, thinking that I’d have dozens of pieces of wood to choose from for the planter.  Unfortunately, as usual, circumstances got in the way.

A year passed, then we moved, then two years passed.  The new shop has had multiple problems with roof leaks, and the wooden crate, neglected in the corner, apparently was resting in one of the spots where water not only dripped down, but accumulated.

As a result, I didn’t have a plethora of beautiful wood – I found a mess of wood with 6″ covered in black mold.  The bottom of the crate is a mess as well; I shouldn’t have butted the edges together.

The cat decided this would be an opportune time to come in and supervise, so he watched as I unloaded a handful of wood at a time and separated the clean pieces from the moldy ones.  10 or so minutes later there are now several dozen pieces of wood laid out behind the shop where the morning & afternoon sun can bleach them.

As I type this, the cat is wandering the pitch black shop, making himself at home.  Periodically he brushes against my legs to let me know he’s on patrol.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s