Since we moved in, I've spent nearly all my time in one of two places — either at my desk, or out on the deck. My office, it's quickly become my favorite nook, as I've carved out a sunny little corner for myself. When we moved in this past April, the first thing I did was paint the bookshelves and line up all my books so that (once again) I could color code them along the shelves. (I know, I know.)
As silly as it sounds, those shelves are what made this house seem like a home right from the start. On my desk there's the gold dictionary Radley bought me just after we moved into our very first apartment in Chicago. There's a Paris paperweight from a friend, the stunning picture from Sam, and the stack of books that have always felt most special to me. And just behind, the desk, framed on the wall, is a print of The New Yorker cover from 1928 — April 21, my birthday.
I've come to see the space as my own personal treasure trove. A room full of riches.
(Well, the sort of riches that really matter, anyway.)