When I was a kid, the dining room table in my house had neat stacks of books and papers covering it almost entirely. I think we called it mom's desk. My mom was a teacher, and the expanse of the dining table was her surface to grade papers and write lesson plans. It probably also provided her with her own personal space. A place that was solely hers. I remember distinctly the neat piles, like the low buildings of Washington, DC, placed in perpendicular patterns all around the table.
Now I know where I get it from.
I have commandeered our dining table. We do have an office, which I use occasionally when my computer becomes too tiny to work on. (Big fancy monitor in the office!) But I mostly sit here. With my tidy piles around me. It's comforting and reminiscent. And just the right way for me to work.
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