Our house is historic--built in 1867 as part of Officers' Row in this old army base. It is a wonderful house, full of nooks and crannies, and twists and turns. And now that our seven kids are growing up and moving out, spaces in our house are changing. The attic loft that has been alternately storage, my husband's study, a guest room, a son's room, a daughter's room, another son's room is now being transformed into--ta-dah!!--a space to call mine own.
I've made a good long list of what to do to transform the room into my writer's garret:
--clear out junk
--take boxes to Goodwill
--paint, polish, clean and dust
--hang a window shade--decorate it first--
--and move my books from all around the house into this new space.
--Paint the old desk
--hang up a string or two of sparkly lights (I love sparkly lights)
--gather a few lamps cast off from kids' former college dorm rooms
--display my ancestors' sepia photographs that I love but no one else wants on our walls
--find a little side table for my pens and papers and cup of tea...
and last but certainly not least:
----bring up my battered but comfortable arm chair and footstool.
Check, check, check, and check! But --ALAS! My old, sagging armchair will NOT fit up the narrow attic stairs. It's just about three inches too wide! My husband, son and I tried turning it every possible way; my mother suggested sawing off its legs and then nailing them back on once it was up the stairs... Our youngest son suggested we remove the stairway banisters. But I just couldn't agree to mutilate my good old chair or the staircase. So I'm bequeathing the chair in which I've written so many of my novels to my husband for his own new writing space, and I've got my eye on another comfy armchair and footstool that I might be able to steal from another part of the house (this may necessitate our buying a couple new armchairs to fit the space where these old chairs used to be)...
Are you still with me? Photos coming soon!