I work in the living room of my house on a routine basis, looking out on the street during the day and seeing the street light illuminate a far-off tree at night. This room is where I see my students in person, work with my students online, answer my email, and write. Light comes in from a whole wall of windows on the east, from two windows on the north, and from two French doors on the west that open on a covered back patio.
I love this room. It is filled with objects that are special to me. Several pieces of furniture that came from my brother Jim, a rocker from my grandmother, a globe and ticker tape stand from Ray’s early life, a table from my beloved friend Patricia, a stained glass lamp from my mother and grandmother, a set of African statues from an old family friend, a statue of an Indian god from my brother George, a gift of two icons of Mother Mary from my beloved priest, pieces of pottery our children made many years back, and much, much more. I am surrounded by pieces that embody a love I share(d) with these many people and that remind me of those special relationships.
Plus, I have my memories of hundreds of students over these fourteen years, who have sat with me at this very table, stretching and growing in their knowledge (and I in mine) of literature and writing. Ah, what lovely memories those are of those children, many now full-fledged adults.
So, if you’re ever wondering where I am, now you don’t have to use your imagination. This is my spot where I spend more time than almost any other. How lucky I am to be right here.
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