This was my Oh-So-Wise-Dad’s desk. He had wanted his own dad’s rolltop, but a brother spoke up sooner. So, a brother-in-law found this one as a replacement, and it served Dad well. He was a farmer, and from this desk he paid many bills, made phone calls, sat and thought and probably prayed quite a bit and sometimes even dispensed fatherly advice.
Dad used a manual Smith-Corona typewriter and a hand-crank adding machine at this desk. (I declined both of those items on the basis of one of my guiding principles in life: The More Stuff You Own, The More Stuff Breaks.) He didn’t type very often, but wrote by hand in all capital letters. He liked to write, and in retrospect, I have decided that words were his art form.
One of the many benefits of getting the desk (which neither of my sisters were interested in, thank goodness!) was that we got rid of a filing cabinet and 4-5 bags of papers! (Another guiding principle in my life is this: If You Can, Get Rid Of It!)
Now the desk is in my house, and its very presence is reassuring. The massive size, the memories, the timelessness of this piece of furniture actually caused me to sit and HANDWRITE SOME LETTERS!! Really! I ignored the clicky noises of my computer behind me and used a pen and paper!
I wonder if this desk will help me be a better artist. . .