My father offered me this desk out of the blue last month. When I was growing up in this house it sat in this exact spot under the window in this bedroom, and was his personal spot. He wrote his letters, journals, and sermons in his tiny, unfathomable handwriting here.
Somehow I never knew that it was also the actual schoolteacher's desk when this building was a real school in the 1920s, 30s, and 40s. Thrilling!!
Then I'd been keeping an eye out at thrift stores for a chair I could use. Loving this one I found for $10. Sturdy, white-painted, but with this strange seat panel that happens to match my bedroom floor perfectly--until that floor gets repainted in spring weather. I won't be repainting the seat though.
That is a nice gift to receive. My father has kept a diary since 1977 I believe, and he has always wrote it at a big oak desk. Not a shiny fancy lawyer desk but the kind that is passed on from one generation to another. I will eventually be given both the desk and the many years of diaries. Thanks for sharing your stories with us.
ReplyDeleteSo the table comes back to its roots! That really is thrilling.
ReplyDeleteSermons! He is a minister, then.
ReplyDeleteThe chair looks very well with it.
Lisateresa
Lovely story, Anna! I have my late father's great big desk in our office and I am so happy to be reminded of him when I see it.
ReplyDeleteI like to look in the background of pictures - are those patchwork curtains? :) Have we seen them before or did I miss that post? They are very pretty!
I just can't believe it was part of the schoolhouse - wow and wonderful!
ReplyDeleteBeautiful!The story,and the desk.
ReplyDeleteChristina
Dear Desk,
ReplyDeleteWelcome home.
That's really special! I didn't know your dad was a pastor. Obviously the desk is where it belongs.
ReplyDeleteMy father wasn't a pastor, just a lay preacher at church. He's a lawyer!
ReplyDeleteAnd speaking of lawyer desks, my brother, who is also a lawyer, works off the desk that belonged to the president of the college that my parents, and my brother, and I all graduated from. I still don't know how he managed that one, but he's a very persuasive man and acquired it at age twenty-one.
I love everything about this!
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for sharing it with us.
Elizabeth
What a treasure!
ReplyDeleteI hope you have many happy moments at the spot.
oh, I just love this. The story, the furniture, the colors.
ReplyDeleteAnna:
ReplyDeleteThank you very much for sharing more about your family. (in MD)
How neat the desk has returned to its home
ReplyDeleteAnna, did you grow up in the school house? I read the post where you talked about the decision to buy it with the Composer (and you found an old photo of the schoolhouse), but I never realised you had lived there as a child. What a wonderful thing, there are days when I wish I could be living in the house I grew up in, mainly for the memories I think.
ReplyDeleteFH
Yes, this is the house I grew up in. My parents bought the school for $1000 and turned it into a house when I was four. I lived here until I got married, then my husband and I bought it from my parents five years into our marriage (for more than $1000).
ReplyDeleteWhat a lovely story! I live in the house my great-grandfather built and that my family has held onto fighting tooth and nail throughout the 20th century (WWII, Soviet occupation etc.). When I was a young girl in East Germany just starting out, I was given a lot of my grandmother's items (dishes and little carpets and the like) that nobody else wanted. I have held onto them (in some cases dragging them with me through four countries on two continents after the wall fell) but it still gives me a warm feeling to have them brought back here, to this house, and have my American husband use them.
ReplyDelete