It was spring 2008. Two weeks after I was notified by the shippers that the desk was on its way, it arrived. I’m positive they heaved great sighs of relief. A local service with a small truck able to negotiate the dirt road to the house unloaded the huge crate. With great care it was placed in the garage. I was thrilled. I waited until evening, however, to open it. A smile creased my face as I took up the crowbar and began. As the last piece of wood fell away so did my smile. To my dismay it had two broken legs and sat askew in a pile of bubble wrap and prop studs.
The desk made its journey back into town where it was repaired by a master wood-worker. It was returned to the garage in November that same year. To get it into the house, however, would constitute some detailed orchestration. Recent back surgery prevented my participation. So, I corralled my son and a few of his friends. With a padded reach-lift it made the trip to the third floor balcony. Then they ‘walked’ it through the door and into the study.
The final ironic twist in this drama is that due to the aforementioned surgery I can’t sit for long periods of time (see previous blog, “Contrary to the Image”). My desk has become the place where I launch my ideas and write my outlines. I have re-named the ornate Scribner’s piece the “Idea Desk.” It serves the function with perfection. Finally.