The Writer's Desk

One of my first cousin's married into the Blaine family that has roots in early American politics. Her father-in-law built this pine desk in the early 80s and somehow it migrated to my bedroom when I was a teenager.



Many of my close friends were then, as they are now, living in the midwest USA, and I would spend hours huddled over the pine desktop with pen and paper corresponding with them.

I cut my writer's teeth largely on this desk by learning language, tense, and the subtle art of asking questions that elicit a written response.

My sister had it for some reason and several months ago I intercepted the desk from taking a one-way trip to the dump.

Earlier on this balmy November day, I retrieved the writer's desk and put it in my office. After a decades long delay and a sea change of technology, I write on it again.

I Have the Neatest Friends

I visited my friend and photography mentor, Al Tolman, this afternoon. I drove up his driveway, got out of the car and paused.

Hmmm...that's a wild turkey standing near his doorstep.

I waited. Al emerged from his house, 'Hey Tim.'



'What's her name, Al?'

'Tee Gee.'

'Huh?'

'Thanksgiving.' He smiles.

'Uhm, are you going to eat it?'

'No. But cool name, huh?'

The name Tee Gee pales to the coolness of having a wild turkey for a pet.

Al continues, 'I go into the forest to cut firewood and the dog, cat, and turkey start following me. After 200 yards, the dog grows disinterested so I'm left with the cat and the turkey in the woods.'