I have been intending to come back here for so long.
This small room in our house was labelled SEWING ROOM on the blueprints we found in the attic. When I lived alone in the house for the two months before we were married, it was my bedroom, and for twenty-four years, I have planned to use it as my writing room.
I have a wonderful desk here — made from an old pump organ that sung its songs to the heavens in an unknown little country church at the turn of the 20th century. But for the majority of the last seven years, the desk became a place where I just tossed things that were in my way, and it waited — lonely — for me to come write. And I never did.
Tonight that changed. In the space of 45 minutes, I cleared off the desk, put away books, set up the Keurig, and prepared my writing space. This is my first blog post written here, but it will not be my last. Listening to the rain hitting the windows, I am so happy to be sitting here writing.
I have been intending to come back here for so long. Perhaps I didn’t think I deserved it.