Reflections on building a kitchen cabinet

Dug in the house | What I learned from the latest project

Hello!

My dog has gotten increasingly vocal—he used to be silent, never barking when people walked by the house or came to the door, not whining when he needed to go outside (instead he preferred the silent, big brown plaintive eye method, as if convinced he could communicate telepathically). This dog is a lovable creature, a brawny 100-pound retriever with soft snowy fur, known for dropping heavy bones and toys on unsuspecting human toes. He exudes the energy of Dug from Pixar’s Up.

But ever since he was injured several weeks ago, he learned that his sounds matter. They could lead to human action on his behalf, to help when he needed it. As his health improved, he kept vocalizing, spurring our family to impromptu games of tug of war or the kids to running around in the backyard with him. Or best of all: a hike in the woods.

The sounds are reminders to his people that there is something more to life than our human concerns, of which we are too easily entangled.

My essay is below—I hope your next couple of weeks have at least a smattering (hopefully more!) of non-work related activities.

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Reflections on building a kitchen cabinet

Dad is helping me build a kitchen cabinet (a commission from a friend). We’ve been absorbed in it for the last couple of weeks. It’s taken more time than I’d anticipated. As usual!

After our first week on the cabinet, I reflected on what I’d learned, writing notes for my future self so that she will be less likely to make the same mistakes. Future Tali always seems like the wisest version of me.

If I were in woodworking school, I imagine I’d be doing readings, taking classes, managing assignments. And taking notes. I’d also be following someone else’s curriculum, absorbing the lessons they think are most important.

A friend recently reminded me that there are limits to that kind of learning—that it’s easy to be seduced by a path others have carved and to want to walk it, but in doing so it can hamper our own creativity and perceptions. It can make us hesitant to take different paths or even to see them in the first place.

Yet there is something to the practice of reflecting at the end of a course or semester. And though I’m not in a formal school, I am a student. So here is an abbreviated list of what I learned the last couple of weeks:

• Stick with the construction methods already learned and don’t get too overwhelmed with other methods. Not because they are wrong, but because I need more practice on what I already know, need it to become more like muscle memory. It’s about building a foundation of understanding, which I think will allow for more variation in the future as I’ll have a better knowledge of design and building in general.

• Cabinet sides should go all the way to the floor and be secured together with top and bottom frames, which will make the cabinet square and sturdy.

• If there are any angles in the project, automatically assume an additional 1–2 days of work. Angles require more testing and futzing and calculations. And more swear words.

• Build the face frame first and then align cabinet boxes to match—in this project, the key dimensions were for the sink and dishwasher openings, which had to be exact. Since stiles and rails were wider than the plywood, building the face frame first allowed me to ensure that the width openings were what they needed to be and then to attach the cabinet box to the frame.

• Prioritize noting hours and what work got done at the end of each day—don’t assume future Tali will remember. She’s wise, not eidetic.

The thing is, I already knew most of these. There’s knowing and doing, having it in mind, and putting it into continued practice. That’s where I often stumble. My mind seems to crave over-thinking, over-processing, making what needs to be done harder than it has to be (a refrain I’ve heard since childhood).

By writing all this down, then, I am attempting to put what I’ve re-learned into a different sort of practice. And perhaps in doing so, subvert my mind’s tendency to complicate that which I know how to do.

After I wrap up this essay, I will be heading to my shop. My client’s shelves, counter extension, and butcher block aren’t going to sand and finish themselves.

But first I’m taking the dog for a walk. He stopped groaning over an hour ago, yet I can’t help feel I owe it to him. Those damn vocalizations. They get me every time.