Friday, August 19, 2016

A little space all my own...almost...sometimes...

I’m a nester. Making things cozy is my forté. Since I spend most of my waking hours in my study, I want it cozy, comfortable, and convenient. During nine years of retirement, I’ve probably rearranged/tweaked the arrangement of said room at least a dozen times. I hold firmly to the belief I’ll get it exactly right the day before I depart this life!
When I arrived and set up shop, I had one of those particle board computer desks which look great until they start to fall apart. (A move or two will hasten the process.) My son, ever the bargain hunter, found a desk for sale for $45 (he got it for $40) and took me to see it just after a winter storm when there was still ice on the ground!
The man and his wife were moving and clearing out their house and garage. It seemed like a good deal to me, especially when he said he’d deliver it and help my son carry it into the house--which was a good thing since the piece of furniture was heavy as lead/aka made to last forever. It’s quite large, as long as I am tall, with a deep center drawer and two side panels. The left one has obviously been redone to accommodate a pull-out printer shelf over another deep drawer. The right panel conceals three other good-sized drawers.
The same son is also responsible for a hand-made bookcase (western design) he found via a friend. It, too, came personally delivered by a family member of the maker. It can be moved with little effort and has probably been against every wall in the room at one time or another. On top is the kerosene lamp belonging to my grandmother, her copper chafing dish used as a young teacher when boarding out, a pair of heavy bronze bookends shaped like cacti which belonged to my parents, and my own hand-tooled West Texas boots which I wore around 3-4 years old.

 The bookcase nestles against a two-drawer chest said to have been used by my great-grandparents after their marriage in 1871. The top houses a CD player, various electronics in their charging station, and an vintage etched aluminum tray belonging to my parents on which I have the aromatherapy mister and several bottles of oil.

Going right around the room past the pocket doors of a closet already perfectly shelved for office supplies is the ancient recliner which is, I fear, on its last legs. It’s actually a power lift chair, a gift to my father from my second son. I use a pillow on the thinning fabric of the footrest and often cover it with a sheet on summer evenings when the worn, scratchy upholstery makes me hot while I sit and read. But as long as it works. . . The lamp table beside it belonged to my grandmother, one of two she used in her living room.
Double windows look out over the street--a totally boring view, unfortunately, with the same few cars up and down on a daily basis. But a sweet hummingbird visits the bright red feeder on the wide brick ledge, and squirrels scamper up and down the trees.) We won’t mention the nasty black grackles which frequent the yard.)
Below the windows is the side table (with drawer) recently found at the Habitat for Humanity Thrift Shop. A little Old English Scratch cover made it look practically new, and I’m sure someone paid a pretty penny for it when it was. Now we move on to the new-one-owner-me filing cabinet on a rolling base, which was a stroke of genius a few years ago when the old file drawers threatened to crater.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the desk accessories: one is a rolling table (ordered new from Amazon) which keeps close at hand my notebooks for scheduling my days and my writing), a footrest which fits perfectly under the desk (also ordered new from Amazon), and finally the “new” chair just waiting for me at the thrift shop when my rolling chair bought during my teaching days finally gave up the ghost. More Old English scratch cover (not really needed) and a quick shampoo of the upholstery exactly matching the color scheme of the study made it new-to-me fresh.
For now I’m quite happy with this room, which is a good thing since I come in here as soon as the bed is made and don’t leave (well, except for necessary trips to kitchen, bath, laundry, and garage) until I turn down that same bed--my grandmother’s four-poster, by the way.
And though my granddaughters, aka the Small Person and the Wee Bear Cub, have a room all their own (it doubles as the guest room) and the run of almost entire the house, you’ll most often find them in here--sprawled on the floor, piled up in the ancient recliner, or simply snuggled against Mimi’s shoulder (in her lap is better) as she plies her writing trade. There’s a cozy feeling in the room--perhaps the “spirits” of those who happily owned the pieces of furniture I’ve acquired; or perhaps the way they blend together to facilitate my work; or perhaps just the contentment I feel when I’m here.
Recently I’ve begun buying flowers at the grocery store when I shop for more mundane items. They go  on the desk where I can enjoy them. They’re just another touch of serenity--and I’m worth a few frivolous bucks.
Meanwhile, I work on, with or without my little shadows (SP and WBC), and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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