At My Desk

My Space has two focal areas.  In the center, I placed a recliner, one probably no longer even suitable for a yard sale as its Naugahyde has been punctured in many sites.  I purchased a navy velour cover with its surface texture of mini diamonds which conceals the tears.  The recline mechanism works adequately, as does its infrequently used rocking capability.  It does not rotate but faces forward to my big screen TV which gets watched most evenings. Once I finish My Space to its optimal appearance, that chair will get replaced as the reward for multi-year diligence.

The heart and soul of the room, though, has been my desk.  It began decades ago with a trip to Conran's, once a trendy home furnishing boutique, a small chain run by a once popular British interior designer.  I drove to the King of Prussia Mall, a gleaming complex with the finest named stores.  At Conran's I  purchased two low file cabinets painted with off-white enamel and matching plastic drawer pulls.  The unit with two file drawers I placed on the left, the one with one file drawer below two small drawers went on the left.  Straddled over them I centered a 72 x 36 x 1 inch thick board of black laminate.  It left the surface a bare tad in height above a commercial desk, but it became and remains my personal work destination.  A mat of Rhinolin 35 x 19 inches defines my immediate work area.  Lighting has evolved over the decades.  Now I have two sources, an architect lamp secured from IKEA affixed to the left with a clamp, one with springs that allows its lamp portion with its 60-watt bulb to direct light most anywhere.  This provides most of the needed light.  I also have in front of me a Banker's Lamp with a cylindrical halogen bulb.  This brightens the Rhinolin surface, though it is obscured by the laptop screen when open.  When the laptop goes to its closed position for daily or weekly planning or other writing, the Bankers Lamp makes my work area sparkle, bouncing just the right amount of reflection from the bulb to desk to my rods and cones.

While now quite personalized with zones for papers, stationery, writing implements, and clocks dominating the mostly covered black laminate, this desk, or at least its Rhinolin portion, serves as my hub for creative output.  I plan my time every morning, connect with friends across distances, write my thoughts, record my weekly YouTube video, all at this designated place to do these things.  My finances have their monthly review.  Phone conversations are conducted with a wireless hand set, while I stare at a screen or recline in the basil green swivel chair harvested from a DuPont Surplus furniture sale decades ago.  My weekly grocery shopping list gets assembled from the Shop-Rite circular, one page at a time, with the newsprint portion to my left and a tall writing pad to my right. To avoid a reflection from the incompletely shaded window behind me, Zoom conferences require minor repositioning of the laptop but still on its Rhinolin surface.

My desk supplies comfort  I keep tubes of Voltaren and Icy Hot within reach. A whiteboard, with its semi-annual projects on its left side and my most fundamental values on its right, receives periodic glances into my direct line of sight as I work or as I reflect.  My desk invokes memories with a photo of one of my two children in each direction.  Their early attempts at ceramics hold my large paper clips. The first vacation that I contributed to, a few days in DC the year JFK entered the Oval Office, brought my first souvenir, a bronze White House replica.  It sits straight ahead, adjacent to a partially painted stone created by my daughter as a pre-schooler.

My desk has its share of the obsolete.  Five spiral notebooks where I generated my thoughts as a frequently entered personal journal.  Audio tapes, full size and micro.  Clocks with hands, one plastic run by a AAA battery, the other Seiko brass with an LR 44 button battery.  A retro radio capable of tape recording, AM/FM, and shortwave, complete with telescoping antenna.  Smaller than a boom box but with a handle that makes it portable once I add C Batteries.  Files that contain Index Cards, one for 3x5, the other for 4x 6.  I have a slide rule, once a high school and college essential.  There is a PDA. never extensively used.  At one time, I found the free maps available at gas stations worthy of taking home.  A sample of that collection appears on my desk. So do picture postcards from my travels, never filled out and sent.  A place for hobbies that never developed.  Calligraphy, a decent art kit in a wooden box.  Loose Leaf Notebooks with zippers, once a school essential.  Each remnant of a past era was once integral to my personal timeline.  Items all set on the periphery, not to intrude on active workspace, though not discarded.  All important to my reflections about where I've been, where my remaining years might take me.  None a serious legacy, however.

My descendants, those obligated to dispose of my possessions when life concludes, might find this nook something of an archeological dig.  What was their Dad like?  What motivated him or frustrated him?  Why did he collect and retain so many unused things?  Let's read what he entered in all those spiral notebooks when we were kids.

Monarchs have possession of kingdoms with varying levels of absolute autonomy.  My Desk has been my statement of autonomy, a place for me to seek out every day.  Tasks performed.  Respite sometimes. But always my territory, always a private display of what value and what captivated me.