Design frustrations

We’ve been using a nice little bench I made years ago as a kitchen stool, but the main problem is it doesn’t fold up and store out of the way. To be more precise, my wife stubbed her toe on it for the third time last week and the time for something new was upon me.

The options

IKEA very likely has a two-step unit that would cost about $22 and arrive 30 minutes after we clicked “buy now”, but that’s far below my wife, who married a studio furniture maker who’s also the editor of a woodworking magazine with nation-wide distribution. Now, that man has to awe and amaze his wife with the nicest step stool free labour can buy. And in record time, too, as one more stubbed toe and he really would have a problem on his hands. Scratch the simple solution; I didn’t dare mention IKEA to my wife.

There are many step stools in countless stores and on myriad websites, but what’s the fun in that?

I was five seconds into my decision-making process when I realized I had to quickly design and build a step stool. Not a problem, I assured my wife.

Design can be painful

I could take the easy way out and whip up something very simple, but I wouldn’t get cheers walking into the house with a basic piece of furniture. Beauty and grace must be crossed with sleek and stow-away for me to look good in this scenario.

On top of the regular design thoughts running through my head, I was now receiving regular texts from my wife, sharing links to step stools she had come across online. It seemed to me like the finish line was always on the move. A step stool with a high handle to grasp while climbing and reaching. A stool that could be hung on the wall, like a piece of art, when not in use. A stool that could also be used as a narrow bench, if needed. Goodness. There were too many cooks in this furniture-making kitchen.

Think outside the box

When designing a project, I often try to try to consider the odd radical option. Or at least think of what I’m taking for granted in the design, then flip it on its head, providing me with a unique design idea that might lead to something wonderful. Instead of the typical tiny one-rung ladder up to a standing surface, what about making a box that folded up, with a hinged lid that could easily fold into place on top of the box? It would be very simple, could look nice and might be fun to use. It just so happened I was about to toss out a cardboard box of Bubly cans that I just emptied, so instead of pitching it in the Blue Box, I cut it up and made a simple mock-up to further consider. This got the creative juices flowing. Shortly after, I eyed my empty Toblerone box and thought I could do the same thing, but with a triangular base and top. After a few minutes of work, I showed my wife. The verdict was handed down quickly. Not interested. Too far from what she was expecting.

Back to the drawing board

I guess a more traditional approach was what she wanted, so that’s where I kept my focus. My wife sent me a few more online options and one of them seemed close. We chatted about the details; her focus was on function and how it folded away, while mine was on production, enjoyment of build and stability when in use. More thinking, more chatting, more head scratching. Thankfully this was only a small project, or it might never get off the ground.

To the shop!

I had a vague idea of what she wanted, so I headed to the shop to make a mock-up. I wanted to toss together a few bits of scrap material, just to allow my wife to stand on a mocked-up stool and see what she thought. It would be ugly, but would at least allow us to test out and chat about details, before I started on the real thing. I’m glad I did that, as she had a few major changes. Long story short, we adjusted the overall width, as well as the way it folded up. Even the height of the two steps got tweaked.

You found it where?!

The project took a weird turn when my wife, from the other room, told me she found a stool she thought was absolutely perfect. “Great!” I thought, and checked my phone for the link. To my surprise, it was from an old Woodsmith magazine article, detailing how they built a short step stool. Woodsmith! I know! I don’t hate them, but they are our competitors, after all. Could I bring myself to copy their design? Would my wife’s opinion of me go downhill the very moment I agreed to build this? Was this some sort of diabolical test? I was confused, but I kept my composure before answering. “Interesting,” I said. “It’s from Woodsmith magazine.” She chuckled a bit, but I didn’t think this was a test, so I proceeded with caution.

“If you really like it, I could make it for you,” I assured her. “I do like it,” she replied. Game on, I thought, as I shrugged my shoulders. I told her I thought the design was a bit boring, but I could spice it up a bit, which she loved hearing.

Tomorrow I’ll head to the shop to start building the real step stool. I didn’t purchase the plans, but I did take a few screen shots to help guide me. I’m not sure how to fancy it up, but I’ll think of something. Or, at least, I hope I think of something. I’ll let you know how it goes. I’m mainly worried about how this one-day … maybe two-day … project has already taken up a day and a half and, technically, I haven’t even started it.