Early this morning when I walked into my office, I saw my old shoes under the desk
and I smiled.
The sun was beginning to filter through the shutters, bathing the room in an soft pool of light
and I was suddenly struck by the quietness of the house
and the beauty of this little space.
This is where I blog.
There’s nothing fancy or expensive about this room, but I love it because it’s my own space in the house, filled with a collection of thrift store finds and antique pieces mixed in with the practical things. The printer and the small TV of course, so I can follow the crazy world of national politics.
Some people watch reality shows. I watch Morning Joe, Meet the Press. This Morning with George Stephanopoulos and Face the Nation faithfully. I find that watching the petty antics of the US Congress is better than any fake melodrama, although it does make me rant at the television and regularly wish for a female President. But that’s another subject.
On this particular morning I came into the room looking for something and for some reason I stopped. I found myself looking over the objects that surround me everyday. Really seeing things.
And I decided to grab my camera.
For one second I thought about replacing these worn shoes for the photos, bringing in my silver ballet flats instead. You know, staging things. But then I thought, wait-a-minute, this is really Me. Why pretend with my readers?
And I thought that maybe you have a pair of old shoes you still like to wear because they’re so comfy.
So I left them in the pictures.
This is the latest love of my life. It’s a fluffy sheep skin throw that I keep on my chair because I’m always cold. If you ever notice a woman huddled in a thick coat inside the movie theater it might be me. Seriously, even in summer.
I keep my pens and pencils in an old teapot. This morning it was sitting on top of one of my current reads, Wherever You Go There You Are.
Whenever I sit down I usually find myself staring at the latest photo Mr. Moss has put on the screen.
What do you see when you turn on your computer?
I happen to love this photo because the boys look so young; and they’re still shorter than their six foot tall Dad, which is no more.
Do you mind seeing the warts-and-all of this room? On the side of my desk is the cord that I plan on hiding some day. And my current files that I’m using.
Behind me is the waste basket. I bought it at Home Goods because it had a lid, and I prefer not seeing garbage. But there’s something quirky about the lid.
Oh well, I think I’m liking it’s oddness.
This is a close up of one of my favorite mirrors of all time. I had walked up immediately after the antique dealer hung this up in her booth for sale and I couldn’t believe it. It was exactly what I’d been looking for.
Don’t you love when that happens?
And here’s what this vintage mirror looks like on the wall.
When I’m writing I can glimpse the industrial style shelving on my right.
Although you can’t see it, the words, “Be Grateful” are typed out on my Grandfather’s old typewriter. I actually struggled between that message and the one I remember him always saying which was,
“Always be humble.”
Do people ever say that anymore?
Now it’s time to pretend you’re peeking over my desk. This is the view of the oak piece I refinished in a soft, gray color. It’s what my printer sits on.
This is what I started with.
And this is the final finish.
On the wall next to the printer I have a burlap bulletin board with personal mementos, photos, an old letter from my grandfather and some precious artwork from the boys. (As you can see, I don’t have an average size heart,)
This morning I had Anne Lamott’s book, bird by bird on my desk. I consider it a “must-read” for anyone interested in writing.
I also cannot begin my day without a strong cup of coffee. Actually I can’t get by unless I drink at least 2-3 cups of strong stuff. But I always put 1% milk in it.
How about you? Do you prefer your coffee black or with milk?
One more shot of some winter white loveliness…
Do you have a special place where you like to write or read?
Virginia Woolf believed that every woman needed a room of her own, But I believe that was actually a metaphor for simply carving out important time for one’s self. A place to contemplate and create things and develop your own life.
What do you think?
I’d love to hear.
I’m linking up here: