Meet The Desk...
Or, one section of it. You can actually see the surface now in the picture. Unfortunately, that is not the case at the moment. Everything goes on The Desk. I think certain entities actually sprout to life there. They move about, unbeknownst to me, perhaps in the dark of night, squirreling away into little nooks, under yesterday's newpaper, today's photos, behind the monitor. I think these actions are kin to those of the toys of my youth which would come to life as I slept, under the bed and in the closet.
The Desk is the nerve center of household activity. It's where we look up information about Antarctica, Native Americans in California's San Joaquin Valley, write letters to grandma, or surf the web for Harry Potter sites. It is where collections of bill receipts, pencils and notepads live, and die, and disappear. (I hesitate to say, buried.) It is where I hope to find that second set of car keys I misplaced sometime before Christmas - somewhere, under all of those layers. (My thought is that the keys are having a party with all the socks that are missing from the dryer - we have way to many non-paired socks.)
Outside of the picture, my cluster research is collected over there on the side of The Desk. It is piled high, papers slipping out landing on the floor down below, tipping precariously in toward the recycle box on the floor below. Next to it, less precariously located, is some old guitar music reminiscent of the sixties when I lugged my guitar around and wherever my feet pointed. It is the corner now, next to The Desk and covered in dust.
The Desk - it hosts all the things that may look like leftovers to others, but is the nerve center of the today, yesterday and tomorrow of this family's life.
The Desk is the nerve center of household activity. It's where we look up information about Antarctica, Native Americans in California's San Joaquin Valley, write letters to grandma, or surf the web for Harry Potter sites. It is where collections of bill receipts, pencils and notepads live, and die, and disappear. (I hesitate to say, buried.) It is where I hope to find that second set of car keys I misplaced sometime before Christmas - somewhere, under all of those layers. (My thought is that the keys are having a party with all the socks that are missing from the dryer - we have way to many non-paired socks.)
Outside of the picture, my cluster research is collected over there on the side of The Desk. It is piled high, papers slipping out landing on the floor down below, tipping precariously in toward the recycle box on the floor below. Next to it, less precariously located, is some old guitar music reminiscent of the sixties when I lugged my guitar around and wherever my feet pointed. It is the corner now, next to The Desk and covered in dust.
The Desk - it hosts all the things that may look like leftovers to others, but is the nerve center of the today, yesterday and tomorrow of this family's life.
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