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The note in my wallet, originally written in pencil several months ago (perhaps a year ago), was so faded when I found it the other day I could barely read it. But when I did I felt a hammer hit me in the middle of the chest. Don F. I'm very sorry.

["I deciphered it and wrote over it in pen"]

A friend wanted a particular type of birdhouse (one with a Coke machine and old radio out front, with wooden and metal signage on the sides) and a wooden boat that would remind him of one he had as a child. He'd even shown me a black and white photo of himself, as a five or six year old, clutching one of his favourite toys. The thought of that photo hit me in the middle of the chest as well.

Yesterday I got down on my hands and knees in the shop and reached under one of my benches for four pieces of lumber I'd been saving - for the boat - for far too long. I put the best piece on the bench and wondered about some type of plan. How do I go about this, I said to myself?

I don't have a plan or my friend's photo. But I've made a beginning and am wondering, when I finish, if I should deliver it in person, with the deepest of apologies, or leave it on his porch under the cover of darkness?

Photos by GH

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