I’m at a bit of a loss as to what to write today so I’m going to do something incredibly exciting and tell you the enthralling story of my writing desk.
It’s not actually my desk, and it’s not even a desk. It’s a dressing table belonging to a dear friend of mine whose house we are currently renting.
That’s a story in itself – how we came to be renting my friend’s house. I’ll get to that.
The dressing table actually contains all of my underwear and is situated between two mirrored wardrobes in the MASSIVE bedroom.
Somehow my laptop has ended up on it and I reclaimed my husband’s old computer chair, which was going to be thrown away as a screw or something is poking up from the seat (hence the cushions) and if you lean too far back on it the chair falls over. Dangerous for my husband, who does a lot of lolling about in chairs.
We are living in THIS house because when my eldest daughter was about fifteen (she’s now twenty four) she threw a wild party (in a home we were renting a few doors down from where we’re currently living) when we were away.
Actually she ran away and then WE ran away to the Outback.
Long, LONG story. I won’t bore you but we were about ready to kill her so it was best for everyone that we all ran away from each other.
We got as far as Broken Hill before the police called to inform us of this wild party and the fact that our 4 wheel drive had been stolen and rolled.
It was a nightmare.
In fact that’s the period where I stopped writing my book called “Raising children is like being pecked to death by a duck”, because by then the children were morphing into teenagers and it just wasn’t funny anymore.
So, we drove all the way back in a parallel state of numbed shock and overwhelming fury. (Really is a terribly long and complicated story. We are good parents – things just went crazy.)
I punched a boy teenager in the face (I really am a peaceful person. I swear that was completely out of character for me.) and the police -who we had called because we knew we were extremely distraught and liable to do ANYTHING, like punch people, stopped us from killing our daughter and other stray teenagers who were squatting in our post party wreck of a home.
This is how I met my dear friend.
Her lovely daughter, who was completely innocent in all of this had been invited to the party. We didn’t know her or her mother at that point but some CD’s with the girls name on them led us and the police to her door.
A friendship began between her (very forgiving) mother and I – all because of a wild teenage party scenario that her daughter had been inadvertently dragged into.
Good things DO come out of awful situations and this is how we have ended up living in THIS house while my friend is overseas for a year. She needed someone to rent her house and we needed a place to move into while we re-establish ourselves in the area that we left six years ago.
Funny how so many twists and turns in life lead you to one particular place- to this very moment – NOW.
We’ve been all over the place. To Western Australia for three years traveling and exploring, to the Blue mountains for almost three years, trying to work out where we “belong”.
Here, at this writing desk stuffed full of underwear, is my –“now”, and exactly where I belong.
So what other stories does this desk tell?
I don’t like looking at myself in the mirror – hence the shawl.
No, the Buddha is not trying to look “cool” wearing those sunnies. I have terribly dry eyes that don’t tolerate bright light and I’m always losing my sunglasses.
The Buddha says there is a deep spiritual part of me….that is slightly whacky.
Or maybe it says I SEEK peace, in odd ways?
The turquoise necklace hanging just behind the Buddha was a trinket bought back from the Philippines. (Love it there – so chaotic and colourful.)
The cap on the other end of the covered mirror is my desert hat. (My most favourite place to be… in the middle of nowhere in the outback -very spiritual.)
The scarf is something my mother gave me. I love scarves. (I think she’s a bit of a shopaholic.)
The lamp used to have nice dangly beads hanging from the shade but when it was on the kid’s computer desk for some reason my teenage son and his friend felt compelled to start picking off the beads. (I was not happy!)
My mouse rests on a Tarot card book. I amused myself for a while trying to learn how to use Tarot cards. Really, I just like the pictures.
There are some business cards behind the base of the lamp – they are for weird freaky contact lenses that I might use in a weird freaky music video, one of these days.
Also there is a glass paper weight…sort of looks like a half crystal ball, that I stole from my husbands office. I don’t know why. (Maybe I’ll try some crystal ball gazing?) He hasn’t noticed that it’s missing. I don’t ordinarily steal his things. Well, I do secretly raid his chocolate stash. (Shhh!)
Ahhhh, and under the silver bag containing my tarot cards is my address book. I’ve been looking everywhere for that! I have a shocking memory and cannot remember anyone’s phone numbers, not even my own.
On top of a glass picture frame – one of those sand pictures that you tilt and the picture changes, that my daughter bought for me, is a referral to have an ultrasound done of my uterus (yeah yeah…I’m getting round to that. Bloody unpleasant women things.)
On top of the referral is my bottle of nicotine juice. I gave up smoking just over a year ago and now use an electronic cigarette.
Above the desk, dangling from fishing line is a crystal I bought in Western Australia. It’s there to remind me that there are many angles in which to look at things, all equally as beautiful… in the right light.
(Wow, wasn’t THAT deep?)
The dumbbells under the desk are there reminding me of how much I hate my fat arms and really SHOULD use the damn things to try and tone up.
More often than not I just kick my toe on them and curse a lot.
They make good door stops. (The kids frequently steal them. I don’t know why.)
Under my desk is a wooden box called “Mollies box”. I found it tossed out in the rubbish during one council collection. It used to contain a cutlery set and on top of the box is a silver plaque with these words engraved on it. “ “To Mollie – from Father and Mother, on her 21st Birthday. 9 -6-35
To this day I wonder who “Mollie” was and who it was that cared so little for her that they threw away this sentimental gift.
Obviously the silverware was gone.
I usually store my Tarot cards in it.
On top of Mollies box is an assortment of Witchcraft magazines. (I’ll let you worry over that.) and a stack of photo albums that I just haven’t found a place for yet.
Now wasn’t that riveting!
I expect before long I shall have throngs of followers signing up and millions of “likes” and before you know it this desk will have me writing a best seller that will launch me into literary history causing me to become absolutely ridiculously rich and famous!
Is there a story behind YOUR desk?
Or just dust bunnies?