I am back this week for the Sunday Scribblings prompt. Last week I gave it a miss. Just couldn't think of anything.
This week the prompt word is View.
Well I couldn't think of anything for that either. So I will bore anyone who chooses to read this entry with my exact view at this very moment, what is right in front of me, visually, as I sit here at my puter on a Monday night here in the land of Oz.
First up the computer. A black keyboard, blue and white screen, black and gray box of a case lights remote control.
To my right is another black and gray box that is supposed to print, fax and scan but I can't work the silly bloody thing. Who is silly anyway.Then there is the red leather belt I took off this afternoon. It has a silver buckle. Why do they never make jeans to fit we women. They should be higher on my waist so they don't slip down when I move and bend and why do they have that annoying gap at the back that shows skin if you don't wear a long enough top with them, I hate seeing that little bit of skin on others so I don't want anyone else to see that bit of skin on me.
There is a corelle plate beside me. I ate a nashi pear for my dessert and the plate is sitting there watching me and waiting for me to wash it. Under the plate is some propaganda that ACTEW the electricity company here, sent today with their exorbitant electricity bill. I guess they need to try to tell me what a great job they are doing for me after slapping that bill on me. OUCH!. Beside that is a stack of papers. There is the Potter's society news letter, and a scrap of paper with an address on it. Then there is my friends and family organizer with all their addresses and birthdays etc in it. Followed by an A5 notepad then topped off with a bunch of keys, a blue pen and a lime green tape measure. Pete's wallet and sunnies and a hot pink stick on notepad.
On my left is my camera, the cord thing that plugs it into the computer, 2 lithium batteries, a stapler, my tax assessment notice, 2 old mobile phones, Pete's phone, a doggie doo disposal bag, unused of course, from the dispenser in the park down town, 2 hair clasps, 2 eye glass cases, a pottery tumbler I made with assorted pencils that need sharpening and pens that probably don't work. A black fabric covered cardboard box full of photographs. 2 red embroidered cushion covers that I use as doilies, just because I like them. A folder with computer disks. A oil burner, made by me with a post fired reduction raku lustre glaze on it, purple and copper red.
At the back of the desk are some cream colored curtains that came with the house. You can't touch them for fear of them falling to pieces and I would be scared to wash them for the same reason. God only knows how old they are.Then there are the heavier curtains in front of them. I think they are cotton, not attractive but functional in the case of privacy I guess. They didn't save me any money off my winter electricity bill though.
The table that I am sitting at is quite interesting. It is very old. I found it in the back of the garden shed at the last house we lived in. It had a bench vice attached to a wooden plank on one end and a split down the center of it. We asked the old land lord if he wanted it and he said no so we set about restoring it. Pete thinks it looks like an old teacher's desk. It is made from pine. It has turned legs and two very long draws in the front with metal pull handles. We spent many many hours stripping the old layers of varnish from it and many more hours sanding it back. I reckon by the old glue we removed from the top and the recessed top , it must have been covered with leather or similar. It has real character with lots of old ink stains and scratches and writing cut into it. Lots of dints and bangs over the surface of its top and that split never did close up too well. But it is solid, as solid as the day it was made and still standing proud, restored to it's original use once again. Useful and used daily. Imagine the stories it could tell if it could talk. The little people who hid underneath it. The old tartar who sat stiff backed over looking her charges, or the bully man who sat watching his young charges with his cane at the ready. Then maybe it was recommissioned as an art desk when it wasn't so fashionable anymore and sent to the art room. Sloshed with paint and clay, cut with blades and bits of paper stuck to it from errant blobs of glue. It has earned its cuts and letters and stains and it would have been a shame to remove all of them, if indeed that had ever been possible.
Its sturdiness giving rise to its next life, a table out on the back veranda where grandpa sat with his daily newspaper and read in the morning sunshine. And grandma potted up her begonias and pansies. Then one of their children decided it was still strong enough to go out the back into the tool shed and put his bench vice on the side of it.
Who knows, who knows what stories it could tell. Until our view saw it differently and we saw its beauty and potential. It is now in our lounge room in daily use again. I love the look of it, with its scars and stains and golden glowing wood.
Right now I am dreaming of another view. It is late and I really should try to view the wrong side of my eye lids instead of this computer screen.