I went out to write last night (three peppy drafts!), then came home and bounced up to my study . . . only to discover that, while I'd been out, Tom had removed the ironing board that had been standing there for six years as a temporary shelf, and installed this beauty . . . a custom-made desk tailored to fit elegantly into the odd-shaped slot, and even with a little drawer, painted a charming green, and all my things arranged tidily on the surface.

The early-morning photo doesn't do it justice. It's simple and beautiful and gorgeously made. I am so pleased.

So today I'll have the fun of putting things into that drawer, of sitting down and doing a little work in my little room. It's is the tiniest sort of haven, hardly space to swing a cat (as they say, though who would want to?). But now I have two custom-made desks--one for standing, one for sitting--plus the small blue reading chair I found on the street and the midcentury straight chair (from a set rehabbed by Tom) you see in the photo. I have a rug barely large enough for a yoga mat, shelves of poetry books, beloved pictures hanging on the walls, and a violin murmuring in her case. I have two windows that look out over the back garden, and a door that latches. Yes, the only closet in the room is full of clothes because we don't have a usable closet in our bedroom. But that is a small matter. It is a sweet thumbprint of a room, and I love to be in it.

I've also got a bunch of other things to do: a trip to the fish market to buy smoked scallops for Christmas lunch; grocery-shopping for salad ingredients (my assignment from my mother-in-law); prepping three different salads for quick assembly at her house (roasting carrots, boiling beets, sautéing peppers). 

I will be taking lots of breaks from cooking to sit at this desk.