Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Not your parents' 1970's shag wall

The folks who work in corporate cubicles are going to consider me a complete pansy for this home office fetish I've got going on right now.  When I used to moan about working in a small room in a daytime-empty suburban wasteland, they'd look at me with crazed eyes and say, "But you have WALLS that go all the way to the CEILING!"  And I'd say, "Sure I do!  And those walls make me feel like the maid who gets banished to the back bedroom and who is only allowed out after-hours when she is needed for cooking and cleaning!"

Of course, that was a situation entirely of my own making, but so is the fetish born of it: the 220-square-foot dream office upon which we are currently putting the final touches, including my transom windows last weekend, and this addition last night:

The blank white wall behind the conference table fairly screamed for a major art piece to anchor that end of the room, and there it finally is, in all its 6.5 x 9.5 foot glory!

But what IS it??  A painting?  A mural?  Tapestry?  None of the above - it's actually THIS:

Yup.  It's an area rug that the three of us picked out.  And we didn't get this idea from some design show on HGTV - we thought it up ourselves, narrowed down the choices, and voted on both design and size, although this time, the vote was essentially moot because, of the thousands of patterns available, there was only one choice - this one, which is an abstract nod to the fact that I grew up in the Sydney Coal Field

Seed fern fossil,

Cramming a new office with new material goods wouldn't have much appeal if there were no deeper meaning being referenced, but every time I look at this, I see the unique geographic circumstances of my far-away childhood, the circumstances that inspired a hobby that triggered an education which brought me to America which evolved into to a career which required a new home where I found my loved ones Cayley and Lawrence, and there's nothing and nobody more meaningful than them!

And now, of course, comes the harder part:  I need to stop admiring my office long enough to actually get some paying work done in it.

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