Once upon a time, I lived with Helen, my grandmother. She liked to tell stories, especially when we were gathered around the dining room table-her recollections of the past seeming to follow most often on the heels of coffee and cake, or a nice ham. After she passed away, I was lucky to inherit not her dining room table, but her desk, where she’d often sat, writing letters or paying bills. I like to think her spirit still resides in that desk, the ancient worn surfaces of wood and brass guiding my thoughts as I write my own stories.
On my laptop…
I think my grandma would approve.
I’m linking up with my friend Melissa, today-writing about the place where I write.