It was Oct 31 and I was eleven when I first met my old Desk. I had just started Grade 6. That was a cold prairie winter I walked clear across town so I could finish out the grade instead of moving to the new school that was just a few blocks from our new house. New to us as it was built in 1904. Cute little place it was. It was my mom that made it that way with her inherited Danish hygge (which means something like cozy).
The Desk and a few other things were left behind by the older lady that sold my parents that house (for all of $6000). The Desk sat in my bedroom upstairs and I used it everyday, if not for homework, then for painting or writing kid-poems as I often did.
I don’t know much about it other than that, except that it’s old, way older than me.
I thought about selling it but could bare too so I plan on giving it to one of my granddaughters. I think she likes to write too. Not sure how to get it to her but I hope she can love it as much as I did and maybe think of me when she looks at.