palmerpink

So we've acquired a great deal of furniture from my grandmother's house; we moved her into an assisted living setup and, naturally, sold her home. She'd asked me a month or two back if there was anything I wanted. It didn't take me long. I wanted the desk. The desk. The one from the study off of her bedroom. The one with all kinds of cabinets and drawers and nooks and crannies. Apparently it's nothing but an old country clerk's desk, worth maybe $300--a meager sum compared to much of the rest of the heirlooms, antiques, and art throughout her house. She readily agreed I could have it. Then things got a little messy. Then they got fine. Then they got messy again--differently. Then I learned a little about myself and, prospectively, grew up. It was good times, if a little frustrating.