Today, I'll post a couple of photos of my newly cleaned desk.
|Closer up of the right side of the desk.|
I've been sorting through the stuff in my three-room "office suite": small rooms, maybe ten by ten, three of them (one up some stairs). It's my sanctuary. Though there are long stretches of time when I forget they're there. Like, when David was off in Maryland for a year, a couple of years ago: most of those twelve months I spent at the kitchen counter, with my laptop. I don't know why. Something about feeling the embrace of the cooking/sleeping/living spaces maybe. Not off in "an office," but home. Alone. (Alone being both wonderful and featuring a bit of yearning.)
So yeah, I've been tidying, organizing, throwing stuff out, moving stuff to the garage to be dealt with later, sweeping and cleaning, and Roomba-ing! (Rudy: my new best friend!) I finally, after almost five years in the new house, cleaned out my secret under-the-stairs closet and hung my Women's March poster up in there. I still have some sorting to do, but already, the effect is lightening, uplifting.
I should do this more often.
So: my desk: if I weren't lazy, I'd affix identifier numbers to the various components, but I am lazy, so I'll just describe.
Far left: my handmade books in a stack, fronted by my brother-in-law Wayne's "fancy" birthday card (which I know I wrote about in these posts, but I can't find where), and in front of that, a hummingbird's nest that David found and gave to me (an Anna's, no doubt). Finally, still on the left, my datebook, which is what I use to keep track of appointments, with varied success. I do not use my phone, or GoogleCalendar, or suchlike. I'm strictly old school. I like to write things down. Also on the left, a necklace charm whose chain broke and needs replacing: on one side is the compass rose, on the other the saying "Not all those who wander are lost." And finally, tucked up behind the computer, The Writer's Block, which I only rarely refer to, but it amuses me. Being as how I'm a pretty much constantly blocked writer. (These blog posts notwithstanding.)
Middle: The iMac with its (stolen) modified photo of Monastery Beach and a relatively reasonable number of icons on the screen (ahem: for me); a watch, because I enjoy analog time; and a stack of index cards, for whatever comes up.
On the right (most of the lower photo): backup drives; a cheery bird coaster covering a ruined spot on the desk; my mother's driver's license, which expired in 2005 (she died in 2008): it makes me happy to see her here on my desk; a couple of thumb drives, and ear plugs because I haven't managed to get them to the bathroom yet; a Pernod glass full of rocks from Cape Cod; a camera card reader; my charging Fitband; the Two Cats Cafe mug from Bar Harbor, Maine, holding pens and pencils; and various reference books that I, honestly, never look at—but I should. They're full of wonderful surprises. A little "enlightenment" candle from a friend of mine, never lit; and my passport. I should say, my precious passport: gateway to almost anywhere. (And I didn't want to go to North Korea anyway.) Stapler. Kleenex box.
And there we are. Some of it personally meaningful, some of it simply useful (even if only potentially—those books!), some of it a record, some of it wishful or wistful, some of it the means of my livelihood. One small corner of my existence.
And another blog post finished. Whew.