The Desk

Bet I get five emails each week in which someone will invariably ask to see a picture of my desk. Or office. Or sewing room. Where do you work? I want to see where you write! Post pictures of where you sew! So... well, here. It's not much, but this is my desk.

It may look as if I have no idea what's going on here, but miraculously, I do. I have notepads for notes, yarn I'm dreaming up projects for, blooming bulbs with shoots of green (good for the soul, eh?), an iPod Shuffle, newly loaded with Bart Millard and Misty Edwards' I Will Waste My Life. And in the thrifted 25 cent, yellow rose pot, a fistful of stamps and puppy treats. (Logically.)

And don't forget the books, which I flip through/refer to/ am currently devouring: Where Jesus Walked, Emily Dickinson's Gardens, The Herb Bible, Falling Cloudberries, The Gentle Art of Domesticity, The Business of Bliss, This Life She's Chosen, and Conspiracy of Kindness. They sit underneath this...

...pictures I've taken, old pictures taken of me, and pictures I love. It's all set above a rusty tin ceiling tile in which my favorite poem is framed: This World is not Conclusion.

Also crowding my work space? The usual suspects: green highlighters, stump-grinding bills, Mexican restaurant receipts, embroidery patterns, a cordless drill, fish emulsion and a traveler's guide to Istanbul. You know, the things we all have to work around.

Wow. Really need to clean off this desk before someone sees it. But first a little brown dog needs to go outside and play. She's pulling on my shoestrings, then sitting up to rest her head on my knees. Her eyes say: Is it time yet? Are you done yet? Honestly. How do people work without a puppy under their desk?