Written June 21, 2011
When preparing for the move to Vienna, there was one thing immediately apparent: I would not be able to take my desk with me. My desk was built into the room and completed by my husband about the tenth year we’d lived in our house. It had huge built in bookshelves that held all the research books a writer could want, a desktop that rounded a corner of the office as well as tons of other storage. It was a writer’s dream and I couldn’t image writing anywhere else.
The day we picked out our flat, I knew which room would be my office. Each room had huge windows and there were only four total, five if you counted what they called a hall. They don’t even count bathrooms in the place but if one did, then there would be an extra three rooms.
The room I chose was the smallest of all the rooms and was on one side of the living room. It was directly opposite from the master bedroom and had its own bank of storage closets. There was plenty of room for a desk and whatever else needed to be put there like a sleeper sofa.
The one thing we didn’t bring with us at all were beds, so off to IKEA we go to pick out sleeping accommodations. While there, I convince my man we need to be looking for my desk as well since I want to start writing as soon as possible. He balks but my youngest agrees, so we start to look at the office furniture. Of course, this is after we’ve picked out our bedroom furniture. I walk slow through the office furniture when Gordon calls me over to a section across the aisle.
By this time, I’m grumpy and don’t think we’ll ever find anything when he points out a glass top. I look down, amazed by what I see. All over the glass is the word love in every language imaginable. Kyle, my youngest who I felt never had paid attention to my writing, tells me that he thinks it will be perfect for me. I am simply awed by this statement. My husband agrees and he goes off to purchase this fantastic desk.
Today, I’m looking out at a cloudy day, working on the desktop that reminds me it’s all about love.