Office

Tricia — Tue, 13 Sep 2011 15:24:46 +0000

The kitchen table was Dad’s “office.” It groaned with all the precious tools of his life—food, newspapers, piles of junk mail, his pill box and several bottles of pills rubberbanded together, the telephone, TV remote and, at increasingly rare intervals, his wife. Without having to rise all the way out of his chair he could reach the refrigerator, cupboards, microwave, and back door to let the cat in or out.

He had satellites in other rooms—the dining room table was a favorite, and the cleaning of it for holiday dinners could take days (the bulk of the time spent nagging him to get to it). Upstairs, downstairs, attic, cellar—all had some of Dad’s “files” in piles, boxes, grocery bags and wrinkled old bread bags.

Elderland

Office