love shacks, baby

i find
i'm going through the house in my mind
trying to remember what things looked like
trying to reconstruct the size and shape of the rooms
and
i find myself fixated on the desk
in the dining room
against the wall that it shared with the kitchen
there was a compact secretary desk
it was a dark wood
nothing fancy
but it was where my grandmother kept her book keeping stuff
it was also the phone stand
and it had a black metal
sort of federalist styled lamp
there was just barely enough room in the space for it
and
whenever she used it
which i never saw
she always seemed to do that kind of thing at the dining room table
but
if she used the desk
she could just literally turn a dining chair around and shift it
over a few inches
and
there you go--  desk chair

i'm trying to remember what kind of legs the table had
and i can't remember
the wood of the table was a pretty golden-y color
maybe a golden maple or fruit wood
not like oak

i guess that's where my desire for a secretary desk comes from


i've been remembering my mother's parent's house too
the tin roof
the bathroom was in the kitchen
and there was just a wall built around it
like
you're standing at the sink
step back three feet you're in the bathroom
and there was an elaborately angled mirror across from another mirror
so you could see the back of your hair
which was genius

her parent's bedroom was light
full of windows and room
and the three sisters had a small
dark
lower
probably added on room
which was very depressing
it was a small old one-step-up-from-a-log-cabin house
across the street from a railroad track
and
i have to admit that while i didn't enjoy the visits
didn't care for my mother's family
or the screaming that my mother and her mother always seemed to engage
didn't feel connected to the people at all

i kinda loved the house
that's gone too of course

not going to be waxing poetic about the furniture
that was pretty terrible

but
i guess i come by my love of shacks honestly