Posts Tagged With: history Nerd

A New-ish Desk

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I reorganized the house a bit this weekend.  I moved my writing desk from my big office into the little nook in my bedroom.  It’s just in front of the walk-in closet with a big window in front of it that looks out on the neighbor’s pretty plum tree.  Plus, it’s a prime Anydots “Business” site (she has business in all the windows.  She can’t cuddle right now, she has to go), which means she’s continually hopping on and off the sill and chittering at the birds who fly past.

I’ve long had a hard time writing in the other office.  There’s just so much space, and it never helped that it sort of became the Cat Room, Craft Dump Place, and General Storage Area (read: always a mess).  I always did better at our Quail Creek apartment where I wrote in a large closet – no window.  So I’m hoping that this will bring me that closed-in-walls, cozy feeling I used to have there.  I mean, I used to do 4 hours easy on the weekends.  Now?  I hardly ever write at home, just in the snippets I can snatch in the breaks of my work day.  This spot has plenty of outlets for the computer, too, and all it needs now is a small desk lamp for late nights.

The best part of figuring out this new space was the curating.  I have 2 slim shelves that are supposed to be for propping up artwork and not for storing things, a slim desk, and scarce wall space.  I will miss having my big metal C and the picture my grandmother drew of me, but there isn’t room for them (and is it weird to have a picture of yourself in your bedroom?  Even if you were 14 at the time? It might be…  I’ll find another place for it). Instead I have my book angel, pens spilling out of a tall espresso cup with a mysterious black figure on it, the Puffin In Bloom version of Little Women, the Jane Austen clothbound hardback set from Penguin, all of my Lord of the Rings journals, a slew of motivational hand-lettered quotes taped to the edge of the shelves (somewhat teeth marked by Miss Dots), my clock, my first NaNoWriMo winner’s certificate, and the Chinese lacquered box that I keep my fountain pen ink refills in.  It has everything I need, with lots of inspiration included.

I may also add a real shelf above the window at some later date, depending on how I feel about it all.  I’ve been keeping a journal of some sort since I was in 3rd grade, though I didn’t get serious and regular about it until high school. The books are many, and that crap has to go somewhere.  I’m not getting rid of any of it on the propensity that someone will donate it to the Redlands Library when I die and some historian in 200 years will be very glad that I took the time to write down my weekend chores, though they will have to look up “mansplain” and “Bernie Bros”  because no one has used those terms in more than a century – the latter especially.

I’m pleased.  I did a little writing yesterday and it felt right.  So here’s to being more productive in the future. I shall now be able to seize the book.

Categories: Life, Uncategorized, Writing | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Cannons

I write little essays about things all the time, save them in a file, and forget about them.  Then, when I’m looking for ideas I go through them and have a little fun…

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In the Great Garage Clean-Out of 2013, I came across a box full of picture books that I had loved as a child and was saving for the days when I had my own child. Keeping things “just in case,” was not part of the bargain Brian and I made about things, though. The bargain we made was that we either had to use it, display it, or donate it. Most of the books I was fine donating, but there was a collection of books that were full of gorgeous pictures on glossy paper. “Drummer Hoff” was in there. That was my favorite as a child, and a Maine alphabet book, and “Shh, We’re Writing the Constitution.” So I decided I was making paper flowers out of them to display in my home.

“I found Drummer Hoff!” I said to Brian.

“What the hell is Drummer Hoff?” he said.

“Drummer Hoff fired it off,” I said. “It’s a book about a cannon.”

“I see,” said Brian.

“Private Parage brought the carriage, but Drummer Hoff fired it off.”

“Uh huh.”

“Corporal Farrel brought the barrel, Private Parage brought the carriage, but Drummer Hoff fired it off.”

“I get it,” said Brian. “Please don’t do another one.”

“But it’s so pretty, and then at the end they fire off the cannon and the explosion takes up the whole page, and the last page is the broken cannon all grown over. There’s a bird on it, and some butterflies.”

“They broke the cannon? I can’t believe they broke the cannon. They’re doing it wrong.”

“I blame it on Captain Bammer. He probably rammed it all too hard. Or Colonel Chowder with his sub-standard powder.”

Brian performed a feat of eye rolling. “So basically what you’re telling me is that you were already a history nerd when you were six?”

“That is exactly what I’m telling you. In related news, I have found my dream job.  It’s a  calling, really.”

“What’s your dream job?”

“To become the lady at the Yorktown army encampment who sets of the cannon for the demonstration.”

Categories: Life | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

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