Quiet Corner

Other than when it was full of boxes as we were moving in, I didn’t take “before” photos of a quiet little corner in the library of the wall opposite the fireplace. It’s nestled just outside the kitchen, and I’m not sure anyone will ever use it but me.

My parents’ roll-top desk is there. In one of our moves from house to house in Alabama, they bought furniture in the store where my first boyfriend worked as a high school student. I think the only things left from that shopping trip are the desk and a glass ashtray. Even though that boyfriend was lifetimes ago, when Mother started giving away her stuff, she said I should have those two things because Tim G sold them to her. How could I argue with such logic? And I do love sitting at that desk to write letters.

The paintings over the desk are watercolors my father painted in Germany. Once again, I scored possession because I was born there. I’m pretty sure this is where my siblings believe our mother’s logic broke down. It was kind of fun at my birthday dinner, with the two of them sitting at the table with Tom, Tim, Lynne, Rhonda, and Lindsey, to try to negotiate trades of things that used to belong to our parents. I don’t think any agreements were reached.

On that other wall is the painting I once talked about here, and under that, a photo taken by James in Montgomery Woods, home of the Sequoia sempervirens redwoods near Mendocino, California. This is where he scattered some of my friend/his boyfriend John’s ashes in 1997. James had the photo framed with a poem I wrote, “Montgomery Creek.”

Speaking of James, he was in town a couple of weeks ago and came by to visit and check out the new place. Anime fell completely in love with him and stayed glued to him his entire visit. I’m not surprised. As long as I’ve known him, James has always had an adoring fan base (I’m by no means a founding member, but I am a devoted one).

The bookcase in that corner holds a lot of reference books–technical, grammatical, metaphysical, geological, spiritual, astrological–as varied as any lifetime of interests can be. It also holds two drawings our niece Toni did when she was a little girl and found out our dachshunds Pete and Stevie had died.

Those will always have a place of honor with the dogs’ ashes. The little monk was my mother’s and reminds me of Francis of Assisi, patron saint of animals, and next to him is a tiny carved wooden dog that my mother talked Cousin Elenore into giving her. Then there are photos of the dogs through the years.

I probably should be at the roll-top desk writing thank-you notes right now…