Friday, January 2, 2009

My home office--the pool table

I cleaned my office in honor of the new year. Now, when I say office, I use that term loosely. I have a computer desk pushed into a corner in front of what was once the side door of our sunroom. Or at least it was a sunroom. I guess it still is, except instead of wicker furniture and pretty potted plants, we have a pool table in the middle, surrounded by kids’ toys.

Twice a year my husband insists I clean all of my “junk” off of it. He has no idea that’s where I keep our most important papers—kids’ book reports, insurance cards, photos, voter id’s. Who needs a safe deposit box when you have a pool table?

I surrounded my office area with two large screens in order to block the glare from the sun, as well as block the amount of time I spend daydreaming as opposed to writing to my family. I like my little home cubicle, despite the noise. In fact, if the phone weren’t ringing, the kids weren’t laughing (or bickering) and the dog next door weren’t barking, I don’t think I could write a thing.

Anyway, an amazing thing happened while I was cleaning. I found a stack of essays that I had written five years ago, sort of blog posts before the blog. I can’t believe how I’ve changed.

In one I describe my frustration over scorching the chocolate for the chocolate ├ęclairs I was preparing for the ladies' lunch/Bible study the next day. Apparently, I had a sick child on my hip, one who coughed continually into the pot (sorry, ladies). It sounded like a delightful lunch, something out of Martha Stewart. I’m sure the ladies enjoyed it, but I was no doubt lost during the lesson because I admitted in the essay that I had not found time to crack open the Bible. My point of view was wrong on so many levels back then—chocolate ├ęclairs, what was I thinking?

Another essay talks about my saying good-bye to big hair (Yes, I clung to the 80s for a long time), while others discuss my faith or my struggles with faith. Some of my problems at the time seem so trivial; their solutions so crystal-clear now that I can’t remember ever worrying about them.

But all recorded a moment in time, and I’m so glad I wrote—and found—them. Maybe I’ll keep them on top of the pool table with all my other precious belongings. At least until my office undergoes its next cleaning, or we decide to finally play pool--whichever comes first.

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