Crafting Cedarwood Treasure Boxes and Figuring Out New Technology

 I’ve been thinking about boxes quite a bit lately.

First and foremost is the cedar treasure box that I’ve been building for our five-year-old grandson. It’s finally done — at least I’ve decided to call it done — after intermittently working on the thing for several months. 

This project involved some big challenges. Chief among them was that I have no training or experience in the art of woodworking. My carpentry abilities are roughly on par with those of Wile E. Coyote. When I look at the box, all I can see is its imperfections.

Then there was the issue of design. Not being especially creative, I went with a box shape for the box. It’s not as fancy or complex as an ornately carved piece of Chippendale furniture, which is what I had imagined at the beginning of this endeavor. After several frustrating failures, I finally had to accept that I don’t have the ability to achieve such a feat nor the patience to acquire the necessary skills.

So, I settled on what is essentially a three-dimensional rectangle. The only thing that could be simpler would be a board.

The second type of box I had been dealing with was much more annoying and infinitely scarier.

I recently decided to take the plunge and buy a new personal computer. This meant transferring all the stuff from my old computer to the new one, which proved to be approximately as stressful and complicated as performing a do-it-yourself brain transplant.

When I purchased my old computer more than 10 years ago, I tried to future-proof it by adding as much computational horsepower as was economically feasible. I gradually learned to trust my computer with everything. That black box contains my whole life, from my writings to emails from long-gone friends to videos of our kids when they were youngsters.

But the powers that be decreed that they would soon end support for my operating system. That’s too bad because I need all the support I can get. In any case, my stuff might become increasingly vulnerable to bad guys armed with keyboards. I don’t want my computer to be taken hostage by some nicotine-stained basement dweller in Timbuktu.

I bit the bullet and bought a new machine, opting for as much horsepower as economically feasible.

Before starting the process of what was essentially the cyber exchange of bodily fluids, I took precautions. All my files were backed up to the cloud — whatever that is — and I copied everything onto an external hard drive. The whole while I felt as though I was ambling unsteadily on a digital tightrope. Without a net.

There’s a scene from the first Jurassic Park movie where the IT guy, played by Samuel L. Jackson, has to reset the park’s computer system. Life or death hangs in the balance. “Hold on to your butts!” mutters Jackson’s character as he throws the crucial switch.

That’s exactly how I felt when I punched the power button for the first time on my new computer. It was a relief when the thing booted right up and immediately busied itself with the task of downloading updates. That job dragged on long enough for me to soothe my jittery nerves with several cups of strong coffee.

Then the computer asked if it should retrieve the stuff I had stowed in the cloud. Yes, please!

My wallpaper photo appeared on the screen and familiar desktop icons began to pop in. It looked as though the transplant process would be swift and nearly painless.

But wait. Where are all my writings? Where are my old emails and email addresses?

A cold, leaden ball of panic formed in my gut. Those things can’t all be gone, can they?

It took some digging, but I discovered that the new computer had helpfully (or so it thought) renamed the folder containing my writings and put the folder in a new place. And my old emails and email addresses magically reappeared when I logged onto the online version of my email program.  

Gradually, given enough time, I may learn to trust this new machine. In the interim, I’m going to be fanatical about backing up everything on an external hard drive.

Both boxes that I’ve been thinking about lately have to do with storage. Our grandson will likely use his treasure box to store such things as pretty rocks and interesting bugs. I’m certain that the contents of his box will change over time.

But no matter what, I hope that he keeps in mind that the most precious treasure will be the time he spends with friends and family — regardless of their imperfections.  

Jerry’s book, “Dear County Agent Guy” can be found at www.workman.com and in bookstores nationwide.