The long weekend finds this girl scrolling through Pinterest discovering office ideas. Months ago, a photo pulled at the heart and I’ve had office fever since. Why? Not sure. Mostly, I work in bed, on the couch, on the balcony and in the bath.
The photo, now phone wallpaper, is to inspire me to:
A) Work harder
B) Redecorate
C) Make more money to refurnish current office, or
D) Use my desk for more than month old mail, coupons, half filled coffee cups and a place for cats to perch.
Of course, the photo office is white, clean, filled with charm and French flair. See it here.
My actual desk is none of these. It is, however, left to me by my Granna. She got it on one of her travels about the world. She, my Granna, was quite the chick. She lived life to the fullest including four husbands, 
good liquor and advice that is oft unrepeatable. Hint: When your grandma talks to you about sex, it’s cringeworthy until you get old enough to realize she was right.
The desk, which sat in my Granna’s house for years became mine when she passed. In those last days she talked memories, happy times, Waterford crystal, Wedgwood china and playing tennis. And which husband she liked best. And which one was bad in bed–yikes!
I can’t replace the desk. It’s scratched up, well worn and smelled of pipe tobacco when it first joined the fray. In the top drawer are pictures, notecards, rulers and stuff my Granna left for me to discover, including tiny notebooks of her travels to India, Bangkok, Asia, Japan. She writes of adventures and people and customs and food.
The slot for my legs is small and the piece is cumbersome. But I can’t sit there and not think of her.
Perhaps it’s not the discomfort of the desk that has me looking at the new and improved, but that it’s a catch-all for a quick change or a place to drop the mail. Somehow a messy desk is not the same as a messy kitchen.
Turns out, studies point to messy desks equaling creativity. Blind experiments over and over again show those with the messiest desks come up with creative ideas, inventions and the like. Go figure. Perhaps a new desk is not such a good idea. Though pretty, I fear no stacks of paper would be scattered about its surface. No old photos would find a resting place. And there certainly would no barrage of cursing when a receipt could not be found.
Who’s got time for a fussy desk? That time is surely better spent traveling the world and adding up husbands, non? Take it from my Granna.
The Duchess Diaries 